Count Belisarius (36 page)

Belisarius replied, stiffly: ‘I do not see that logic has any part in true religion.'

Theodosius laughed. ‘A sceptical comment indeed, Godfather.'

Belisarius explained, his temper still unruffled: ‘Religion is faith, not philosophy. The Ionian Greeks invented philosophy to take the place of religion; and it made a cowardly and deceitful race of them.'

Then my mistress Antonina asked: ‘But is not philosophy needed to steel one against possible injuries? Is it good to keep faith with those who may injure one?'

‘It is good to keep faith and to forgive injuries. To break one's faith is to injure oneself.'

Theodosius remarked: ‘But the weaker a man's faith, the less he will injure himself by breaking it.'

Belisarius replied gently: ‘Do not let that concern us, Godson. We are all people of honour here.'

Here I intercepted a swift glance that passed between my mistress and Theodosius, as if to say: ‘Ah, dear Belisarius, you flatter us. Perhaps our sense of honour is not so fanatical as yours.'

I have never forgotten that conversation, and that glance, in the
light of my mistress's subsequent relations with Theodosius. This at least is sure: that Theodosius had allowed himself to be baptized only as an aid to personal advancement, and was no more a Christian than I or my mistress. He once confessed to her: ‘The only writer on Christianity that I have ever read with satisfaction was Celsus.' This Celsus is anathema. He lived in pagan times, and wrote about the early Christians with witty severity. He even went to Palestine to investigate the parentage of Jesus, and claimed to have found Him recorded in the military records as the son of one Pantherus, a Greek soldier of Samaria. ‘And it is noteworthy,' Theodosius said, ‘that, according to the Evangelist John, Jesus did not deny His Samaritan origin when the priests charged him with it.'

Everyone is entitled to his own faith or opinions, as Belisarius maintained. But Theodosius concealed his thoughts from everyone but my mistress Antonina – if indeed he revealed them to her. Although I did not believe the stupid servants' gossip about my mistress and Theodosius – such as that they had once been observed kissing behind a screen and, on another occasion, emerging together from a dark cellar – I nevertheless felt a strong presentiment that one day passion would seize hold of my mistress and the young man and bring ill luck both on Belisarius and on themselves. For being an atheist, or at least a sceptic, what moral scruples had Theodosius? As for my mistress, she had lived a very loose life in the old days, and had not by any means been faithful to her husband the merchant, looking upon her body as her own possession to dispose of as it best pleased her. Her love for Belisarius was undeniable; but whether it would restrain her from indulging any passion that she might feel for Theodosius I could not foresee.

When Belisarius said: ‘We are all people of honour here,' I was sad. I loved him as a noble hero, and my loyalty to him was only second to the loyalty that I felt for my mistress, in gratitude for the great consideration with which she had always treated me.

It was at this moment that Solomon was announced. He came panting into the room, hardly able to speak. My mistress sent me for a cup of wine to revive him, which he presently drank. My discretion being beyond question, I was permitted to remain and hear the story that he told us.

The Vandal women were at the bottom of the trouble, Solomon said. They had persuaded their new husbands that the Emperor had
defrauded them of their marriage-dowries – of the houses and lands that belonged to them in their own right. These same women had also stirred up indignation against Justinian's oppressive religious edicts: all Arians being strictly debarred from the Sacraments and even forbidden a little holy water with which to sprinkle their children for baptismal purposes. There was now a whole crop of newly born Arian children who, if they happened to die without baptism, would be damned everlastingly; and this caused their fathers, Thracian Goths and Herulian Huns, great concern. The mutiny had been agreed upon for Easter Sunday, which fell that year on the twenty-third day of March. The conspirators decided to assassinate Solomon as he was attending a ceremony in honour of the Resurrection of Christ, in the Cathedral of St Cyprian. Solomon did not have the least suspicion of his danger, because the secret had been extraordinarily well kept. Yet half the soldiers of his own bodyguard were in the plot, being married to Vandal wives and wishing to share in the distribution of land and houses.

The moment chosen for the assassination was that of the solemn elevation of the Host before the high altar (an action which is held to endow it with miraculous properties); for the whole congregation would then be prostrated in reverence, and a sudden, murderous blow could easily be struck. But when the Arian soldiers entered with their hands on the hilts of their daggers, encouraging one another with nods and nudges, they were overcome by a sudden sense of awe. The vastness and richness of the Cathedral, the soft, solemn chanting of the choir, the candles and the incense, the banners and the garlands of spring flowers, the venerable priests in their embroidered robes, the unarmed congregation at prayer in festival dress – all this created a profound impression on the Arians. They could commit murder but not sacrilege. As they halted, irresolute, the silent-footed sacristans and dog-beadles came gliding up to them, plucking at their sleeves imperiously, motioning for them to prostrate themselves with the rest. One by one they obeyed, and took part in the remaining ceremonies just as if they had been of the Orthodox faith. But when they were outside again, each of them accused his neighbour of cowardice and softness and swore that he himself would have dared the deed if only a single other man had stood by him.

They made these quarrelsome declarations in the public marketplace, and Solomon soon came to hear of the matter; but when he
ordered their arrest the men of his bodyguard showed no readiness to obey him. Then the conspirators, joined by a number of other dissatisfied soldiers, left Carthage and began plundering in the suburbs.

Solomon found himself powerless against these malcontents: his own troops refused to march against them. On the fifth day he called a general assembly in the Hippodrome, where he addressed the assembled soldiers and sailors and police-officers, attempting to win a renewed oath of loyalty from them. But they howled him down and threw stones, and presently began beating and killing their own officers. They cut the throat of Solomon's Chief of Staff; and then Pharas the Herulian, who resolutely proclaimed himself loyal to his bloodbrother Belisarius, was mortally wounded by the arrows of his own men. These Herulians had been brewing
kavasse
again, for the bee had been restored to them.

Soon the mutiny became general, the whole army began to plunder the shopping district in the centre of Carthage and the warehouses by the harbour. Then, but for their not burning any houses down or wearing Green or Blue favours, it might have been Constantinople in the Victory Riots – with no Belisarius at hand to restore order. For the time being Solomon took sanctuary in the Lady Chapel of Geilimer's Palace, but escaped as soon as he was able and made for the docks. There he commandeered a boat and, after ten days' rowing, here at last he was.

When Belisarius had asked Solomon a few questions he announced to Antonina: ‘I am going to Carthage immediately. It is what the Emperor would expect of me. Do you stay here and act as my Deputy.'

‘What troops will you take with you?'

‘A hundred cuirassiers.'

‘You will be killed, madman.'

‘I shall be safely back here before the month is out.'

‘I must come with you, Belisarius.'

‘I can trust only you with my affairs here.'

‘I cannot trust myself. Let me come with you. I will not be denied.'

‘Antonina, in this you must obey me. I order you in the Emperor's name.'

Thus it was that my mistress, though against her will, remained behind at Syracuse with Theodosius; and she did not expect to see Belisarius again. If it is true that she ever broke her marriage-vows sworn
to Belisarius, this was the occasion. But she always denied that she had done so, and none could contradict her, for she had always been a very discreet woman. It is my task as a historian to tell the truth, but it is also my duty as a faithful domestic not to traduce my mistress. Fortunately this task and that duty do not conflict. I know nothing for certain: so much I can swear.

In Carthage the mutineers, having plundered the city to their hearts' content and taken formal possession of what houses and lands they fancied, marched out to join forces with another group of mutineers of the column to which Solomon had entrusted the wearisome siege of Mount Aures. Their combined squadrons soon amounted to 7,000 men, and in addition there were a thousand Vandals. Four hundred of these were escaped captives. They had lately been on their way to the Persian frontier from Constantinople; but off the Island of Lesbos they had overpowered the crews of their transports and sailed not to Antioch but back to North Africa, where they disembarked in a lonely spot near Mount Pappua and marched to Mount Aures. They had intended to ally themselves with the rebel Moors, but instead joined the Imperial mutineers, who welcomed them warmly. The remaining Vandals were refugees who had been hiding in obscure places ever since the capture of Carthage and now dared to come into the open at last. Horses were found for them at the posting-houses.

The mutineers chose as their commander a private soldier, an energetic and capable Thracian named Stotzas, and then marched back to Carthage, proclaiming the whole Diocese a Soldiers' Republic. No opposition at all was expected from the citizens. They arrived outside the walls at dusk on the seventh day of April and bivouacked there, planning to march in on the following morning. But that very evening Belisarius arrived by sea with his 100 chosen cuirassiers and immediately began to search through plundered Carthage for a few loyal troops; and before morning had gathered together 2,000. Of these, 600 were Roman African recruits of the cavalry police-force, and 500 were Vandals, men beyond middle age, whom Belisarius had allowed to live unmolested in their homes, and who in gratitude now volunteered to help him. There was also a number of friendly Moors. Of soldiers who had not mutinied there were no more than 500. But it was a saying that Belisarius's name was worth 50,000 men. When the mutineers heard of his sudden arrival, they considered themselves outnumbered by 52,000 to 8,000, and immediately broke camp and fled
back to the interior. They were heading for Mount Aures, where they intended to make common cause with the Moors. Belisarius pursued and overtook them fifty miles out of the city, at Membresa, an unwalled town by the River Bagrades. Here was a new sort of battle for him to fight: against his own soldiers.

The honour of the victory is now popularly given to St Cyprian – whom legend also credits with having made a personal appearance in his cathedral on that Easter morning (disguised as a dog-beadle, but his halo plainly showing) to disarm the assassins and force them upon their faces. For at Membresa St Cyprian's wind sprang up suddenly, out of season again, and blew hard in the faces of the mutineers just as the two armies were about to engage. Stotzas realized that the arrows of his men would lose velocity because of the wind, and therefore ordered one-half of his cavalry to wheel over to a sheltered position on the right flank and use their bows from there. The manoeuvre was executed slowly and with some disorder. Belisarius, at the head of his cavalry, immediately charged against the point of greatest confusion, which was the Vandal squadron. For the Vandals, not being archers, were uncertain whether they were intended to move or stay. The sudden charge broke them, and the mutineers' army was cut into two parts; both of which gave way when Belisarius's column divided and swung round at full gallop against the rear of each.

Thus it happened that many of the Vandal women changed husbands a second time. They were left behind in the camp when the mutineers scattered into the desert, every man for himself; and were captured by Belisarius's men with the rest of the plunder. Most of the dead were Vandals; because as soon as victory seemed certain, Belisarius had ordered his men to refrain from attacking the mutineers, who might presently return to their allegiance; and indeed a thousand of the fugitives surrendered gladly and were granted a free pardon.

Belisarius would have continued the pursuit and summoned the still loyal garrison of Hippo, and the troops stationed in Morocco, to help him in stamping out the mutiny. But having only a single body, and that not divine, he could not be both in Sicily and Africa at the same time; and a messenger had just arrived from my mistress Antonina, reporting the outbreak of another mutiny at Syracuse. There was nothing for it but to leave Hildiger, his future son-in-law, in temporary command of the army in Africa. He returned with his 100 men to Carthage, and so by sea to Syracuse.

Nevertheless, there was no soldiers' mutiny in Sicily, as it proved, but only a refusal of an infantry general named Constantine to take orders from my mistress Antonina as Belisarius's lieutenant. He declared that it was no part of his duty to obey any woman, unless it were the Empress in certain civil matters of which the Emperor had delegated the control to her: according to immemorial Roman custom women could not be appointed military commanders. My mistress had placed Constantine under close arrest; and his fellow-generals, sympathizing with him, ceased to send in their daily reports to my mistress, referring everything instead to the senior officer among them, who was Bloody John. On his return Belisarius released Constantine from arrest, but spoke very severely to him and to the other generals, and told them that he regarded their action as both ignorant and insulting to himself. It had long ago been proved that a woman of sense and courage could not only command troops with resolution (as his wife the Illustrious Lady Antonina had done during the march to Carthage) but lead them to victory. Had not Zenobia of Palmyra, riding mail-clad at the head of her troops, preserved the Eastern Empire from the invasion of Persian Sapor? The Lady Antonina was, moreover, his declared representative and held his seal. By this untimely insubordination they had forced his recall from Africa, and prevented him from completing his action against the mutineers. The soldier Stotzas was still at large and likely to cause more trouble.