Honour (24 page)

Unable to stand it any longer, Pharas mounted an assault and it was a total failure in terms of penetration. He lost a high proportion of his effectives – either killed or so seriously wounded as to be rendered
useless – and was left once more staring up at the formidable fortified city, his frustration now double that which it had been before. In his heart he prayed that Flavius Belisarius would realise that this was not war to his Heruls and that he needed to be relieved.

The sight of the troop of his general’s
comitatus
, unmissable in their distinctive uniforms, cheered everyone who saw their approach until it dawned on them there were no more and that these were never going to be enough to take over the burden. Being Arians, the sight of the relics impressed them, but that did not translate into what they thought a solution.

‘Our general wishes you to show this casket to Gelimer.’

‘You can show it to him, Boriades. I lost a hundred men against those walls. I was about to send to Flavius Belisarius to ask for more and enough so we could be employed elsewhere.’

‘Then I require a truce flag.’

‘What makes you think they’ll respect one? They are Moors.’

Boriades let that pass; to Heruls no other tribe, even a Germanic one, was worthy of trust. He had his own men fashion a cloth of white and he made his own way on foot up the steep mountainside followed by two of his men carrying the heavy casket, which was covered to keep it hidden. Being a Latin speaker he had no trouble in getting one of Gelimer’s supporters to the walls, if not the man himself, who declined to treat with a mere officer of his main enemy.

The first message was that Flavius Belisarius should come himself if he wished to talk of the terms of a Roman surrender, a jest that had laughing all of Gelimer’s men who heard it. Boriades was up to trading jests; he replied that if surrender was on offer, Gelimer should take it from a pauper, if need be.

‘Which he now is.’ That got a curious look from a face which
required a steep craning of the neck to see. ‘Now that we have his treasure ship and Bonifatius too.’

‘You speak in riddles.’

Which led Boriades to suspect that the transport was a secret Gelimer had not confided to even his closest adherents, his personal guard, men who had stayed loyal to him in disaster and would probably die to protect him. A poor reward that would be for such service.

‘I speak to you, but I have, now, need to speak with Gelimer.’

‘King Gelimer!’ came the angry response and not from the man Boriades was addressing.

‘I ask only that he comes to the battlements and looks. No words need be exchanged that impinge upon his dignity.’

There was a hiatus, Boriades waiting while he could hear but not see the murmuring of a conversation filled with dispute. The battlements were only the height of two men while the gathering of people was on the wooden fighting parapet. Odd that it seemed that one voice was arguing both positions.

Eventually a new face appeared but there was no speaking. Never having seen Gelimer, Boriades had no idea if it was really him, yet there was no alternative but to assume it to be the case. He called forward his two troopers and whipped the cover off the casket, that producing a gasp. Then he had it opened to reveal the relics laying on their velvet lining. After a wait he then shut the lid and recovered it as the head disappeared.

‘That is a message from Flavius Belisarius who wishes Gelimer to know that, should he surrender, no harm will come to him, a pledge made on the bones of Saint Sebastian.’

More murmuring followed and the man with whom he had
originally spoken leant over to talk. He insisted that as a king, Gelimer could only treat with someone whose rank did not insult his standing. Being told that the general was too busy in organising the new imperial province to make such a journey led to proposals made and offers rejected until it was agreed that the two should communicate by letter.

Told he would have to remain until this was complete, Pharas was far from happy. It took weeks of missives flying to and fro until the terms were agreed, and under a strong escort Gelimer was escorted from Medeus to Carthage, there to join all the other Vandals who had surrendered.

The war was over and it had taken six months to subdue a kingdom that had stood for a hundred years.

O
ther problems required to be solved: the Balearic Islands had been a Vandal fief and they had to be secured for the empire, the man sent to effect the takeover, Hilderic’s representative to Constantinople. But the most pressing difficulty lay in Sicily and the city of Lilybaeum, which lay at the very western tip of the island and had been a Vandal possession that Flavius now claimed for the empire, this dismissed by Amalasuintha on behalf of her son. Much correspondence ensued with no one giving ground, so the final suggestion was that the matter should be referred to Justinian to arbitrate.

That was a cunning ploy – he was unlikely to give up what was once part of the Roman Empire – given Amalasuintha depended on the Emperor’s support to hold her own position against her nobles. The notion came from Procopius who, having served throughout the campaign, had continued to impress the man for whom he laboured, the only problem being that Antonina was sure he was vying for influence in a way that was designed to ensure she provided none.

If the burden of winning the campaign had been hard, acting as a proconsul was even more difficult, though at least he could send the
Huns home, which removed the running sore of their discontent. But for the others there were responsibilities to undertake in garrisoning the vital cities that held the whole polity together. Another problem was that not all the tax and census details for the whole region could be found, and fearing to be landed with the burden of repair he agreed with Procopius to hand the matter over to Constantinople; let them provide the people to right that loss.

The feeling that matters had changed since the conclusion of the war was palpable. In some senses it reminded Flavius of that which he had observed in the corridors of the imperial palace, sly looks and especially long silences when he held a conference of his commanders, he being left with the feeling they were not all entirely with him. Nothing manifested this more than the reaction to the oft-reiterated mantra that they must be seen to be different to the Vandals.

They had not come like them to live off the toil of others, to eat food they did not grow and to reward themselves with monies they did not earn so they could retain their martial purity. The population must be treated as Romans should, the Vandals willing to change must be integrated into the society in which they lived.

Procopius had a reason, ‘I think you will find, General, that ambition is stirring in more than one breast. There is much to aim for.’

‘I always get the impression that with Valerianus he cannot wait for me to depart.’

‘He is an officer in the
praesental
and personally appointed by his emperor as commander. He would need a commission directly from Justinian to succeed you.’

‘Meaning I could not anoint him even if I wanted to?’

‘Legally, no.’

‘He must know that, Procopius?’

The look Flavius got them told him that if one general did not know the statutes by which such matters were decided why should another? And Flavius had to acknowledge his understanding of the legal codes of the empire were sketchy.

‘Maybe I should ask him outright.’

‘That rarely provides an honest answer.’

Looking at him, tall, slim and by his movements somewhat fussy, Flavius wondered if even Procopius always told him the truth. The man was so clearly committed to him he had to hope it was the case, despite Antonina’s insistence that he was the kind to always have up his sleeve a means by which he could protect himself.

‘Those sort always do,’ she had said more than once.

Was he that sort? There had been no evidence that Flavius could see, no lovers of either gender. It seemed as if Procopius had no need of such attachments, content to immerse himself in his toils to the exclusion of a private life. He certainly took little pleasure in the regular entertainments that, despite Antonina’s clear hostility, he was at liberty to attend – gatherings of officers and officials to eat and drink, and others where the Lady Belisarius brought in singers and dancers.

They were far from being to her own husband’s taste, being too frivolous at a time when he was engaged in a war. It seemed wrong to be entertaining oneself when what you were planning would see men die, and that might include your own self. Antonina would have none of that; if you could not relax, to her mind, how could you fight?

‘Might I suggest, General, that a watch be kept on some of your officers?’

‘Why?’ came the guarded response.

‘You have just alluded to what is at stake here in North Africa. A
rich province far from Constantinople, ambitious men—’

‘No, Procopius, let us see if we can just trust them.’

Yet what his secretary was suggesting did stay with Flavius; anyone seizing the province and declaring themselves as rulers would have many factors on their side. Distance, of course, the fact that it could not be carried out without troops but they, the Belisarius
comitatus
aside, would be bribable with slave-cultivated land if not hard coin. But to actually spy on them was not to his taste. In this he was circumvented.

‘You must forgive me for acting without your express permission.’

‘Against my express orders more like. What possessed you?’

‘Is my skin not worth saving?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then accept that was my purpose.’

Tempted to argue with that, Flavius declined to do so. It might have been to save him that he acted. ‘Are they fit for me to question them?’

‘They will answer whatever you ask.’

The two specimens brought into his presence by Pharas and a couple of his Heruls were in a sorry state. Middle-ranking officers, they had been racked and had hot iron applied to their flesh. Their straggle of beards showed they had been long unshaven and in their eyes Flavius was sure he saw despair.

They had been apprehended boarding a ship bound for Constantinople, one of the many elements of the fleet that had fetched the expedition to these shores, returning to their home ports to resume their normal trading duties. Their owners had never liked the rate they were paid by the imperial treasury for their hire and had been clamouring for the return of their property.

‘Fetch wine and bread,’ Flavius said. ‘These men need sustenance.’

‘They need a rope round their neck,’ Pharas responded.

‘Have you tried kindness, Pharas? They may have told you what you wanted to know.’

That got a look of utter disbelief and not only from the Heruls; Procopius was equally unconvinced. The servants did as their masters required; the two miscreants were allowed to sit, Flavius watching them all the time while aware he was being likewise examined by those to whom he owed a debt of gratitude.

The pair had already confessed under torture to the mission on which they had been engaged, carrying a message to Justinian telling him that Flavius Belisarius, his most trusted general, was about to rebel and seize the old Vandal kingdom for himself. What they would not divulge was the identity of the person on whose behalf they were acting.

It took no great genius to see what was being hatched: a smokescreen for another’s ambition, the chance to create, after a coup, the time to organise the province so that when it was declared free of imperial control it would have a chance of survival. Though it had not been extracted from their bleeding lips, because the question had never been put, there was another obvious point. For any rebellion to succeed he would have to be killed and very likely, given it would include anyone loyal to him, it would result in the death of Antonina as well.

It was Procopius acting on his own who had uncovered the plot and his point about his own skin was well made; he was too close to Flavius to survive. The recruitment of Pharas had been clever. Procopius knew how much faith his employer had in the leader of the Heruls just as he was aware that if asked he would keep the secret until the time came to reveal it and help to extract from the culprits what the general needed to know.

‘So, Procopius, from the beginning?’

‘Pharas came to me first.’

That got the Herul a sharp look. ‘Not to me?’

His bad Latin worked for Pharas not against him; the question made him indignant not defensive. ‘You would have sent me packing, General, and don’t you go denying it. You are too ready to believe the best in folk.’

‘I have faith in you.’

‘And I had nothing but a smell, a few questions asked about how we Heruls might settle here and become part of the army of the province.’

‘Which made you suspicious?’

‘It wasn’t you asking an’ it should have been.’

‘So Pharas came to me to ask if that was what you were seeking. It immediately struck me that anyone asking was not doing so for you, because I would have known of it.’

‘I am at a loss to know how you worked out that messengers would be sent to Constantinople damning and accusing me.’

‘It is sometimes necessary to think like a thief to catch one, is it not? The same applies to conspiracies. Now we have come this far I doubt I need to explain.’

‘No,’ Flavius replied, looking at the two downcast prisoners. The food seemed to have done little for their spirit. ‘So you were on your way to blacken my name?’

One nodded, the other looked at his feet.

‘Who is it I have treated so badly that they see the need for me to die so that they can prosper?’ The tone, one of obvious regret, made the fellow who had been looking at his feet lift his head to stare with bloodshot eyes at Flavius Belisarius, making him repeat himself.

‘Who?’ When no reply came it was he who was almost pleading. ‘It would ease my soul to know.’

‘They refuse to say,’ Pharas barked, ‘but they will.’

‘Perhaps they don’t know.’

‘General—’

Flavius held up a hand to stop Procopius talking and it had the desired effect. His mind was elsewhere, going back in time, several years to the elevation of Justin to the diadem.

‘Conspiracy, yes?’

‘A damnable clever one.’

‘If it is that, then one fact that would be kept close is who these men were acting on behalf of. It shames me to say I once became involved in something of a similar nature, a deep plot and one that succeeded.’

The disbelief on the face of Procopius was not mirrored by that from Pharas. ‘You can fool an enemy on a battlefield, General, can’t see no reason why you would not off one.’

‘The plot was not mine but that of Justinian.’

Procopius obviously felt free to comment on that. ‘At least that makes sense.’

Flavius stood up and went to the nearest prisoner, gently lifting the head of the man who did not want to look him in the eye. ‘Do you know who would have benefited from this intrigue?’

The head shook slowly and the question was put to his companion, the result the same.

‘You do not have to believe them,’ Pharas insisted.

‘If they said a name I would doubt it to be the true one.’ He produced a wry smile. ‘I have been well trained, you see.’

‘This plot of Justinian’s?’ Procopius asked.

‘Another time, perhaps,’ came the reply, as he went back to the first man to whom he had spoken. ‘Was it just you two?’

No answer, not even a head shake, and that brought from Flavius a sigh. The second fellow was now looking at him, and in his eyes as
far as Flavius was concerned lay an honest answer. He could not, in his weakened state, consider the notion had been arrived at by sheer deduction.

‘Procopius, we need a list of vessels that have sailed for Constantinople in the last few days.’ He was looking at the two victims again, one after the other and their bodily reactions were telling, not least their heads being dropped once more to avoid eye contact. ‘Also, initiate a poll of middle-ranking officers, tribunes, and where they are, discreetly. Find out who is not where he is supposed to be. These two are of that rank, what’s left of their clothing.’

‘You think there were more?’ Flavius nodded at the question, so Procopius added, ‘Because it’s what you would do?’

The smile now had no warmth in it at all. It was more that of a man cursing some error. ‘Let us just say it is what my tutor in scheming would do.’

Pharas was quick to interject. ‘We could rack them some more.’

‘Why, when they have told you all they know?’

‘Have they?’

‘By their silence they have.’

‘And what shall we do with them?’

The look was harder now. ‘Given they care nothing for their lives you may as well kill them. You would expect me, knowing me as you do, to let them go. But that will only see them murdered by others for their own security.’

Now the bloodshot eyes were pleading and Flavius knew why. They might not know the name of the ultimate beneficiary of their mission but someone of lesser standing, maybe more than one, had suborned them to act for that person and under torture they had not revealed their names. Released, such men would suspect they had talked and
might give evidence against them, the refusal to do so condemned them now. The pair were dead as soon as they were apprehended trying to board ship.

‘Justinian will not believe them, so I have nothing to fear.’

‘That may not be true.’

‘In as much as he trusts anyone, Procopius, he reposes that in me.’

‘I was not thinking of the Emperor,’ Procopius said in a soft and somewhat sad tone. ‘But Theodora.’

‘She has influence, but how much? Enough to turn him against the person who aided him to the purple?’

‘I would speak with you alone, General.’

About to say it was not necessary Flavius saw the look in the eyes of Procopius and it was a wounded one, almost like a man on the verge of tears. So he nodded, which had Pharas ask what he was to do with the prisoners.

Flavius came close to reply, his voice a low hiss and with no attempt to stifle his anger. ‘I want their heads on pikes. Set them up outside the baths reserved for tribunes and above. Let the bastards who conspired know that if I find them that will be their fate too.’