Triumph

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

There was no call to face either Justinian or Theodora. The act of enquiry was left to Narses and was carried out in an informal manner designed to put him at his ease. In that it failed: he was as nervous and alert as a cat.

‘It is necessary to know the answer, Flavius Belisarius, a simple yes or no. Did you order your stepson to imprison your adopted son with the eventual aim of murdering him?’

If only I knew which one to give, Flavius thought. Say it was all the doing of Photius might put his life in danger but there was no way of knowing if that was true. Say he had ordered his stepson to act, as a means of saving him, was equally fraught for both of them. The game was a deadly one and he knew he was not well equipped to play it.

‘Would I be allowed to ask what Photius faces?’

‘You would if it had any bearing, but it does not.’

He had to assume that his stepson had taken all the blame upon himself, otherwise this interview would have been conducted in a different manner. It was the truth, yet if he agreed with that he might be condemning a young man whom he loved to an execution.

‘Perhaps, Narses, given your circumstance, you might fail to appreciate the passions that can be aroused by what has taken place. Both Photius and I have been shamed.’

‘Did you order Photius to kill Theodosius?’

‘Is that a question you would answer?’

‘I am not being examined.’

Flavius made a point of looking around the empty chamber, his eyebrows raised. ‘So it seems, neither am I. Where are the judges?’

‘Allow that I will suffice.’

‘I cannot do that without knowing what the outcome will be.’

‘Strange justice when you require the sentence before the trial.’

‘If there is to be a trial, then I will answer any question put to me. But you will forgive me, Narses, if I decline to tell a courtier, however powerful, that which I might impart in confidence to my emperor.’

‘A person with too much to consider to be saddled with this.’

‘I demand an audience.’

‘Which will be denied.’

‘Am I to return to my post without a consultation with the man who commands me?’

‘Be assured he reads your despatches with great care.’

Which was as good a way of any of indicating to him he would indeed be returning to Dara. Was that a slip up from Narses or a pointer to what he was seeking? Would Justinian want a scandal, the same applying to Theodora? It was not impossible to execute Photius secretly, though there would be rumour and gossip, which must include his mother, and her friendship with the Empress being no secret, she might be tarred by it.

Secret retribution was not an outcome that could be applied to him; if he was to be punished it would have to be in full view of the populace and with all the reasons known. This private questioning indicated the imperial couple did not relish the affair becoming public and on that assumption he could give an answer. If he was wrong they could both suffer.

‘I have many times threatened to kill Theodosius with my own hands, but I have spoken in a passion. To proceed from that to the act is a different matter, but I am willing to confess that had I been within striking distance of him I am not sure I could have restrained myself.’

‘And Photius?’

‘Acted as he saw it on my behalf, made as angry as I by the behaviour of his mother, while being equally wounded by the callousness of Theodosius.’

‘So he determined to kill him.’

‘He wished to do so, but he did not. He imprisoned him-’

‘And impoverished him,’ Narses interrupted.

‘Then he came to me.’

‘To ask for your approval of an action he has admitted he wished to carry out.’

‘Approval which I declined to give him. And I say this, Narses. I know Photius. He would not have acted unless I gave him express permission to do so and I daresay when the hot irons were pressed to his flesh that is what he confessed to.’

‘No order?’

‘The reverse, Narses.’

Flavius nearly went on to say that he had instructed Photius to free Theodosius but he stopped himself; he had not and he doubted if his stepson would have invented such a story, even under torture.

‘You accept that your stepson committed a heinous crime?’

‘I accept he acted foolishly but from laudable motives.’

‘Theodosius says that Photius relished telling him that he was about to be killed on your orders.’

‘A lie that would have no trouble passing such treacherous lips.’

The eunuch put a hand to his chin, to worry the flesh, and in doing so he dropped his eyes and remained in contemplation for some time, this while Flavius questioned his motives for being present. Had Justinian instructed him to it or was it an attempt to render the command on the eastern border untenable for a rival? If it was, Narses would be the natural replacement and Flavius knew from past experience he was militarily ambitious.

He was not given a clue; the eunuch stood up abruptly and left the chamber. In the following days no action was taken and finally he was summoned into the presence of Justinian, but not on his own. There were a number of his counsellors present and the subject was confined to the forthcoming campaign against Khusrow, should the Sassanid King invade again, as he was expected to do to both take plunder and put pressure on Constantinople to pay more gold.

Only at the very conclusion could Flavius ask for the release of Photius, and that in a whisper. The response was a sharp head shake and a black look.

There were two factors mitigating against any attempt by Flavius to help Photius: his own public renown and time. In the latter case the kind of delays the bureaucracy imposed on him as he sought equipment was an aid not a hindrance; instead of an immediate return to the east he could move freely in the palace complex as he apparently sought to chivvy various officials into action when, in their presence, he seemed full of understanding for their difficulties.

The former was more troublesome, added to the possibility that Theodora, known to employ spies, was having him watched. Never had fame seemed to him so much of a burden. Flavius had never much cared for the kind of public approbation with which he was regularly assailed in the streets of the city on being recognised.

To walk the Triumphal Way as a successful soldier, a conqueror and newly appointed consul was one thing; in such a circumstance a cheering crowd was to be expected. To be applauded for merely passing by seemed crass, he being unware that it was the very fact of his walking amongst the citizenry without pomp or protection that added lustre to his reputation for humility and probity.

He was at least relieved of the presence of Antonina, who preferred the royal apartments close to the Empress against residence at the seaside villa, not for reasons of comfort but because Theodosius was once more in Constantinople. Her behaviour was once more a standing rebuke to his soft nature, as if the imprisoned stepson was not an even greater running sore.

To do anything himself was impossible; even to plead for clemency was likely to produce an effect directly contrary to that aimed at, and in this he had to face the combination of the Empress and his wife. Antonina in particular was determined that Photius should be punished for his attitude to her over many years. She had openly advocated, he had been told, thankfully to no avail, that the torture he had suffered should be continued.

His only hope was old comrades. The city was full of men who had served with him, the kind of middle-ranking officers that he had always taken care to look after so that they too would attend to the needs of those they led. Anyone of high rank he could not approach, they being inclined to put their career way ahead of any perceived debt they owed to their one-time general, an understandable response, if one he found frustrating.

To meet the men he needed to talk with required the kind of subterfuge at which he might be a master on the battlefield but was anathema in normal life. He was obliged to leave the villa not only in darkness but in a covered wagon, this while the house behind him was fully illuminated by burning oil lamps, with busy servants much in evidence.

Under the canvas canopy Flavius was dressed in a heavy, hooded cloak as a double precaution, his exit swift and taken just as the wagon turned a corner so that anyone following would be unsighted. This found him in a familiar setting, if one he had not visited for a decade.

The streets in the dock area were narrow, dark and stinking, the only light, and a gloomy one at that, coming from the sconces above the various tavern and brothel doorways. His choice of destination had been advised by Solomon, who knew more of the habits of the men Flavius sought than did their one-time commander. His experience of this area had been in the company of the pre-imperial Justinian and the elevated types with whom he associated, their pleasures taken in the most salubrious of the establishments.

Once he had found the basement he was seeking, care had to continue to be exercised. The tavern was crowded, it being a haunt for soldiers, not dock workers or itinerant sailors, and the fug set up by the burning of cheap oil did much to add gloom to the light such lamps were supposed to emit. This made finding a table at which to sit difficult, compounded by the need to examine those who would be his neighbours before he could park his backside on a bench.

Still hooded he was on the receiving end of many a stare, for what was common outside on a winter night was not the same within, which meant the cowl had to be removed, but not before the low-beamed room had been the subject of a ranging examination. The act of throwing it off was a calculated risk, given his face was known to many, but most customers were too engrossed in their own affairs to even look in his direction.

The tavern was small and made to seem more so by the fact of being busy. The tables were packed close and at one end lay a tiny clear area in which there would probably be dancing and maybe more lewd demonstrations. There was a rickety staircase leading, he surmised, to cubicles, for this place would act too as a brothel. It was impossible to avoid reflecting that if both the Empress and his wife had come from a better class of establishment, this was the kind of life they had lived prior to the good fortune brought on by Theodora’s marriage.

The sudden burst of loud singing, being in Latin, had him spin to place it, the tune itself being one he recognised, having heard it many times as he walked the lines of his encamped soldiery. The words were filthy, raucous and ultimately blasphemous but that mattered less than the nature of the source. Flavius waited until he had been provided with a pitcher of wine before he moved towards the now silent singers, picking up the tones of their rough exchanges, traded insults that created much amusement.

The table was too crowded to allow him to sit, each bench fully occupied by a set of scarred individuals, all in some kind of apparel that identified them as military: tunics, a breastplate or two and the odd removed helmet. Experience told Flavius that there would be a hierarchy, if not in rank then in personality; there always was in any group of soldiers and the man with the loudest voice, sat at the head of the table, seemed to be that and was thus the object of his stare.

At first the reaction to that was a look of fury, for the gape would seem like a challenge. That only lasted a second before the eyes began to narrow and the man leant forward slightly to add a keen look. Those same eyes soon went wide and so did the fellow’s mouth, whatever he was about to emit silenced by the finger at the mouth of Flavius Belisarius.

The reaction had been observed by his companions, which brought a small oasis of silence in the noisy room, one that allowed Flavius to ask for permission to sit, which was quickly ordered by the man at the table head and obeyed by his companions, several of whom were now staring open-mouthed at their new companion, who placed his pitcher of wine on the bare wood and spoke in Latin.

‘It is a poor guest who does not come with gifts.’

‘A Greek habit, Excellence,’ intoned the leader, ‘from ancient times.’

There was wit as well as shrewdness in that response; the man was saying to Flavius that his presence in such a place, added to the manner of approach, smacked of dangerous subterfuge.

‘You would honour me more by not using titles or names.’ That got a sharp nod followed by a glare that encompassed the whole group of eight men. ‘You would also honour me by naming yourselves, since to my shame, though I seem to recognise several faces, I cannot put a tag on them.’

They tumbled out, each spoken in a near whisper. Colonus, Euphrastes, a pair called Brennus, and the rest he missed. It was Colonus who had the air of leadership Flavius sought, and with politely phrased requests he moved until they were sat close.

‘I heard you sing in Latin.’

‘It is our tongue, General.’

‘Do I sense Illyricum in your accent?’

‘It takes a sharp ear to detect that.’

‘Not to one raised by Illyrian parents, Colonus.’

The whole table had gone quiet, which was inclined to attract more attention than any amount of noise. Again Colonus showed a shrewd appreciation, making a loud toast, taken up by his fellows, that followed by a bark to keep talking. Then he brought his head close to that of his one-time general.

‘I am bound to ask why you are here.’

‘As I must ask what is known of my troubles.’

The pause was of no great length, but it was significant and made more so by what followed. ‘Word is you sent your lad Photius to murder a fellow who was …’

‘Dallying with my wife,’ Flavius said, finishing a sentence with the words Colonus was clearly too embarrassed or cautious to utter. ‘So it is common gossip?’

‘Aye.’

‘And?’

‘Not a man at this table would not do likewise, though they would strike the blow themselves.’

The tone of that alerted Flavius to the undercurrent of what was being implied: that if he was being cuckolded, then it was a matter he should have sorted out himself and not given over to another.

‘If I was to swear, Colonus, that no such order was given, would you believe me? I would not imperil my soul by cold-blooded murder.’

‘It would be a fool who doubted the word of-’ The sharp headshake stopped the indiscretion; even whispered, Flavius saw the use of his name as dangerous, which allowed Colonus to finish with, ‘a man such as yourself.’

‘You served me in Italy, I think.’

‘The whole table did, though we came with Narses.’

It seemed politic to enquire more, and to include his companions in a recollection of their service. There was also a possibility that these men formed part of the Narses comitatus, and if they did their loyalty to the eunuch would be absolute. That fear was laid to rest by some of the choice insults aimed at the man who had brought them to Italy from Illyricum and to comparisons with their better treatment once he had gone home.

They had been withdrawn not long after Flavius himself departed Ravenna and now formed some of the garrison of the capital, none too happy since there were no spoils in such a duty. Such general information flowed for a while, but Flavius was aware that Colonus was no longer taking part, and in a lull the man who had been identified as the senior centurion posed the obvious question.

‘I need help, Colonus, and I am prepared to pay a sum you would never chance upon even if you took Croesus himself prisoner.’

‘Then it is help that comes with great risk.’ Flavius nodded and Colonus fell silent for a while. When he did speak he again showed that he had a brain. ‘This duty has to be about your stepson.’

‘He is in prison – I want him freed and I cannot do that by mere pleading.’

‘By violence?’

‘That would be to invite certain death. He is beneath the palace and even if I know you to be hardy fighters you cannot take on the whole regiment of Excubitors.’

‘Then it has to be bribes.’

‘I would say so.’

Colonus fell silent again, though he again waved his hands to have his companions keep up their faux enjoyment. To concentrate his mind Flavius produced a soft leather pouch, which when he laid it on the table, testified to the weight of its contents by the telling thud.

‘We could take that and do nothing.’

‘You could, Colonus, and that also tells you I am short on alternatives.’

‘And how do I convince you that is not a waste?’

The glance at the purse meant no further explanation was required.

‘Are you free to visit the barracks at Galatea?’

‘I am when off duty.’

‘Tomorrow?’ A nod. ‘I will be there visiting the wounded I sent back from Dara. I will not be hard to find for a centurion wishing to pay his respects to a man who once led him in battle. There we can talk freely and I can advise you on how you can do that which is barred to me. If you are not there, then I will know this was a waste. If you are, what you see is but a down payment on a far greater sum.’

Flavius was halfway to standing, and aware of the combined stares of men who had once more fallen silent. Still he addressed Colonus, and softly, his hand over the leather pouch.

‘One piece of advice from a fellow soldier. It would be wise to share your good fortune with some of your companions. This is no task for one man.’

There was no need to add more and the look in the other man’s eyes said plainly he understood.

Flavius Belisarius had no need to explain his presence in a military camp, least of all the near permanent base at Galatea. It was there Colonus found him, to be introduced to Solomon who would from now on be the Illyrian centurion’s point of contact, and that at arm’s length. He was given a sketch plan of lower floors of the palace and it was established that the way to get Photius free would require a combination of money, guile and perhaps some physical force.

‘The thought of that does not daunt you?’ Flavius asked.

‘If it did, General, I would never take part in a battle, would I?’

‘How many of last night’s companions have you included?’

‘The whole table.’ Seeing the raised eyebrow and the implied point that excessive numbers could be dangerous, Colonus was quick to add, ‘Might need every one.’

Once Colonus had departed Flavius was left alone with Solomon, who even if he said nothing, showed in his expression severe doubts as to the chance of success. Flavius had a different opinion.

‘I have often had cause to thank God for my luck, but never more so than now. It must have been his hand that guided me so quickly to these men. With that, I am sure his grace will attend to what must be achieved.’

Solomon crossed himself.