Honour (10 page)

The problem was the movement was visible to the enemy and Perozes moved his own cavalry to mitigate the threat. By the time Flavius and his compatriots were able to deploy they found themselves facing their own kind, and to drive into the flank of the enemy infantry would expose their own left to a counter-assault, while to merely charge might drive back the enemy but it would deprive the Romans of one of their major assets.

That was when the Armenian horse archers reappeared, their quivers replenished and their ponies still eager to run. Facing them were the drawn-up and static Roman cavalry, which presented a wonderful target to disrupt, especially since many of their arrows wounded unbarded horses, not men who had shields and mail armour. Those struck naturally became hard to control, some bending to their knees while others reared up and began to run amok, with their riders more intent on maintaining their seat than their fighting positions.

‘We should charge them,’ Flavius said.

This was addressed to no one in particular, for he could sense that to stand and just receive this assault was the worst of two evils and if it continued the Roman cavalry would lose all cohesion and be rendered ineffective. Lacauris and Restines must have realised the same and they moved their archers to back up the
foederati
who, furious at being so stung, were ordered to advance at an angle which would press in on the flank of the enemy infantry, the very tactic that Vigilius had been forced to abandon.

Suddenly the horse archers, quivers empty again, were gone and with much shouting and the occasional slaughter of a screeching horse the Roman cavalry got into some form of fighting order again, just in time to advance and block the mounted Sassanids who had begun to advance on the
foederati
flank.

Diomedes, the man in command of this portion of the mounted Roman forces, made no attempt to impose order and it was with some difficulty that Flavius avoided his own three-hundred-strong
command
from joining in the melee of a general charge. This was what he had trained for and his aim was simple: to keep his men in some kind of order so that when they made contact with the enemy they did so as a body and with maximum impact.

In this objective he was only partially successful but at least he fared better than his fellow tribunes, many of whom seemed to behave as though the wild yells they were uttering as they urged their men on would be enough to destroy their opponents. It was as well the Sassanid cavalry commander had as little control as the Romans, the result being that when the forces met it was usually one on one. Only the group led by Flavius had any great impact and he knew it to be marginal for they were far from the formation he had sought to create.

What he did have was a core of his troopers who had fully imbibed his ideas and they formed a phalanx of cavalry that drove into the enemy with great effect, each man able to protect at least one of his fellows and, should the lead horseman be held up – it was not always their commander – to drive forward and break the logjam. In the end it was too effective as Flavius found he had led his core right through the enemy, which left them in danger of being isolated.

It was necessary to wheel and fight his way back to rejoin his own side, now breaking off the fight on blown horses and with many wounded to retire over a field littered with dead or dying men and horses. The horns were blowing furiously from both sides of the battlefield as an action which had reached stalemate was discontinued, both sides later arranging a truce so that their casualties could be collected.

That night, around blazing fires, Flavius Belisarius listened to much boastful talk of the deeds his fellows had performed and what they would do on the morrow when the fight was resumed. If they were truthful in that they were disappointed – for Lacauris had decided that it was better to talk than fight and once they had commenced a parley,
no doubt on instructions from Constantinople, it was decided that it was better to pay a bounty in talents of gold to Kavadh for peace rather than to engage in all-out war.

Flavius, along with the rest of the Roman army, retired once more to Dara to what was, in essence, boring garrison duty.

F
lavius 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.’