Triumph (23 page)

A whole day went by in fruitless talking as Abandanes and Flavius went through the motions of diplomatic exchange that both knew had no purpose. There was talk but no guarantees that Khusrow would retire in peace, merely suggestions, and should he do so the Sassanids could expect that Justinian might finally appoint ambassadors to talk of what price the empire would be willing to pay for an end to conflict.

Flavius agreed that this was possible but was adamant he could not commit Justinian to anything, for to do so would step on the imperial prerogative. It truth, both men knew matters would be decided when Khusrow was apprised of his situation and not before. Naturally Abandanes was sent home with gifts, fresh skins from every beast the forests nearby contained, as well as a valuable statue that had once been the property of Khusrow’s father, Kavadh. It was one of the spoils of the Battle of Dara.

‘Not very subtle,’ Bouzes observed as they watched the envoy’s caravan depart.

‘It’s not meant to be. It does no harm to remind our foes I once beat them.’

The scouts sent to observe the movements of the enemy reported that, after only a few days, they were heading east and their direction would bring them into conflict with Justus. Flavius issued orders to the imperial nephew to get out of Khusrow’s path, with an additional threat to send him back to Justinian in chains if he disobeyed. Then he brought together his own forces but made no move to advance and impede the enemy.

Those same watchers observed the Sassanids throw a bridge across the Euphrates and only then did Flavius move, to make his presence felt on their rear and chivvy them on. He too crossed the river to maintain the pressure. A message came from Khusrow claiming to have met his part of a bargain never agreed, to which Flavius responded by requesting he keep moving east.

Once out of Byzantine territory he then undertook to send the news to Justinian with a request that the ambassadorial demand be met, as long as no Byzantine property was damaged by the retiring army. To save face, Khusrow demanded a hostage; Flavius was happy to oblige for he had achieved his entire aim, and that long before the campaigning season was complete.

He had chased Justinian’s enemies out of the imperial lands and it had cost not a drop of blood or a speck of gold. Task complete, Flavius retired with his army to Edessa in Mesopotamia, central to his area of responsibility, sure that his enemy would retire to Persia.

Khusrow, no doubt to save face, took advantage of the lack of Byzantine pressure to sack the city of Callinicum, this before he announced his intention to observe the peace, which brought from his opponent a rare outburst of fulmination at the perfidy of the Sassanid dynasty.

The sight of Solomon approaching the gubernatorial palace of Edessa, a sorely missed man, had Flavius examining his expression long before
they were close to each other. Not wanting to betray even a clue as to what had happened, his master was surrounded by high-ranking officers as well as his bodyguard, the
domesticus
merely nodded in a manner which was enough to tell his master that Photius was free, a whispered explanation later explaining it had taken four attempts before it had been successful.

‘His health?’ he asked once they were alone.

‘Damaged,
Magister
. The tormentors worked on him hard.’

The excuse of another more private hunt was contrived and both men set out with a small group of Flavius’s personal followers at dawn so their general could rendezvous with his stepson, not that they were given a chance to observe the meeting, being halted well away from the church in which he was hiding.

What Solomon had said did not do any justice to the truth. Photius was gaunt and if his face was much scarred it could only be guessed at how wracked had been his body, less fulsome than it had been, obvious when they embraced, indicating skin and bone. Even his voice was different, no longer strong but hoarse, that matched by a tearful Flavius who knew what he must say and had no joy in the delivery.

‘I cannot take you back into my service, Photius.’

That got a wan smile. ‘I would scarce be of use to you and know I must continue my journey, Father.’

‘To where?’

‘Jerusalem, where I will seek sanctuary in a monastery in the hope that my mother and her evil twin will leave me in peace.’

‘Never have I wanted to harm her more.’

‘Yet I know you. You will leave her punishment to God.’

‘I beg you write to me. No name but I will know it to be you.’

Solomon had removed himself and father and beloved stepson
spent a full glass of sand quietly talking, recalling better times until finally it was time to pray for a better future. Photius would wait until Flavius and his party were well away from the tiny chapel before moving on, all his stepfather could do as a last gesture being to make sure he did not lack for funds.

‘My needs will be little now. No weapons or armour, or even a horse. A donkey at best, that and a plain garment.’

A final embrace, a parting without looking back and no doubt an escort wondering why their normally buoyant general was silent and seemingly cast down in despair, which lasted even when the sun went down and they made their way by the moon and stars. Flavius arrived back in Edessa well after midnight to find the palace a blaze of light and, given the varying guards assembled outside, full of his senior officers.

Bouzes was outside and he spoke as soon as Flavius dismounted before the stairway. ‘Word from Constantinople,
Magister
. The plague has reached the city and is raging.’

That did not surprise Flavius, but the concerned expression on the face of Bouzes hinted at more. ‘One of the afflicted is Justinian.’

T
he implications of that did not require explanation; both men had seen too much death at the hands of that affliction to be aware of the potential consequences. From the first signs of lassitude they had seen men develop the swellings that presaged a serious illness rather than minor distress. Then came the shaking as even on a hot day a man could complain of being chilled, followed by pain in fingers, nose and toes as they turned black, another sign only too familiar to a fighting soldier who had seen his comrades require limbs to be removed after a battle to save their lives.

Strong men cried in agony at the pain they were subjected to from limbs that grew increasingly stiff. Those close by them, men in their ten-man
decharchia
or their camp wives, knew the disease to be entering the fatal stage when they began to cough up black blood or dark spots appeared on their yellowing skin. Sometimes those close by, fearful for their own lives, tossed such victims into the specially dug plague pits before the final signs of life were extinguished.

The other obvious worry was time; if the Emperor had fallen victim to the plague, the time taken to get the news to Edessa might mean he was already dead and the implications again required little
discussion: the imperial throne was empty and there was only one person well placed to act upon that.

‘In your absence I called a conference of senior officers and we agreed that the Empress Theodora should not be allowed to promote a candidate.’

‘It sounds like Zeno and Anastatius all over again,’ Flavius said, with a slow shake of the head.

‘Can you not see it bodes ill for you,
Magister
?’

‘Worry less about me and more about the empire, Bouzes.’ Then he lifted his eyes and looked at his leading general. ‘Where does Justus stand in this?’

‘With all of us. He knows the Hippodrome will never acclaim him. He is too young and lacks support. But you …?’

That got a wry smile. ‘Whoever thought it could become a habit, turning down imperial titles?’

‘We cannot let Theodora choose Justinian’s successor.’

Again the point was driven home; without her husband Theodora had little bordering on no power, added to a raft of enemies who would be only too eager to extract retribution for the way she had used her influence to impoverish and isolate them. Her fate would not be mere removal from authority – she was too much loathed by the mob for that – so it would take little for those who hated her to whip up the kind of multitude that would see her torn apart.

That she would naturally stop at nothing to avoid, added to which the path to safety was no mystery. When the Emperor Zeno died his consort felt equally at risk, although she had fewer high officials antagonistic towards her. With no obvious candidate to succeed Zeno she had married handsome Anastatius and had him commended then accepted in the Hippodrome.

Theodora would do likewise but more tellingly, without Justinian
to restrain her, she would be swift to kill off anyone she thought threatened her ability to continue to rule. If imperial authority ever seemed arbitrary there were checks on a monarch’s power making it dangerous to alienate too many potential adversaries.

Justinian had known that, which is why his reforms, though effective, had moved at the pace of a snail. His wife would not be so restrained and that had the potential to throw the whole polity into something akin to a civil war. Quite apart from the obvious bloodletting of internal dissension, Khusrow would be quick to take advantage and he might, in an interregnum, be granted the chance to conquer at will.

‘It was unanimous, Flavius. In the case of an imperial vacancy the Army of the East will support your candidacy.’

‘Officers of the Army of the East,’ Flavius responded, his caution plain.

‘We do not need to ask the soldiers. They will acclaim you as soon as they hear that Justinian is no more. And who do you think can stand in Constantinople against the only high-ranking person who can walk the street unescorted and be cheered by the populace for doing so?’

‘The devil is in your very words, Bouzes. If Justinian is no more?’

‘How many survive the plague?’

‘Some do and he will have the best attention a man can be granted. Perhaps he will even have divine aid.’

That got a jaundiced look from Bouzes; to him, Justinian was more likely to seek that from Satan than God. ‘I ask that you enter the tent now, Flavius, so that you can see the temper of those you lead.’

‘I am weary, Bouzes, and for reasons other than merely too much time spent on horseback.’

‘Your officers are waiting to acclaim you as their emperor.’

Bouzes was clearly frustrated but he was up against the immovable force of one who was not inclined to act when uncertain, either as a general or a man. ‘A night of sleep and contemplation will alter little.’

‘Can I say to them that the notion is not one you entirely reject?’

It was Ravenna all over again to Flavius and he knew Bouzes was right. On the assumption Justinian had died, Theodora would have to be thwarted and he was the man best placed to do it. Once more he had to find an answer that satisfied without making a commitment.

‘Should that come to pass which we fear, I will not shirk my duty, wherever that takes me. Tell our comrades that.’

Solomon had proceeded straight to Flavius’s own quarters and got ready a deep tub of hot water in which his master could bathe off the grime of his day’s travels, this after several cups of wine chilled by mountain ice. Sat in that, with more water being added at intervals, he had much to contemplate and it was doubly depressing that he lacked the company of Photius, with whom he could at least speculate out loud. Not that his stepson would urge caution; quite the reverse, he would be hot in favour even if it came to bloody usurpation.

Of course, if Justinian was dead and he was acclaimed as emperor – not an outcome he entirely thought of as welcome – then Photius could be brought back to Constantinople as a free man, his crimes forgiven. That led to thoughts of Antonina; how would she react to her husband being elevated and how would that test her loyalty to Theodora? Would their positions be reversed?

‘
Magister
!’

The gentle shake from Solomon brought him out of a deep slumber and a lubricious dream in which he had assumed the purple and surrounded himself with a whole tribe of comely young concubines eager to satisfy his every whim. The erection he had was not induced by fantasies of sexual gratification but by the need to relieve himself,
so naked and hardly dried, he went on to the balcony to piss under a canopy of stars as well as a low moon.

Inevitably he looked to the heavens as if seeking guidance, and what hit home then was the weight of responsibility that might be placed on his shoulders. If Justinian had found it difficult to rule with ease, how much more so would he? That he had no desire for the office meant little, for if he shied away from his responsibilities to the empire that could bring on chaos as factions fought for power.

If his whole life had been dedicated to serving the empire and its ruler he would be a coward indeed if he shirked this most onerous of obligations. There in the inky sky, to his troubled mind, lay the soul of Decimus Belisarius looking down on his son and his dilemma, but of guidance there was none. Realising he had been stood for a long time after he had completed the reason for being out in the open, Flavius addressed a heartfelt plea to the place where he assumed the deity he worshipped resided.

‘‘Dear God, if you can find it in your compassion to save Justinian, I beg you do so.’

Such a plea did not obviate the need to face his officers once they assembled the next morning, and as he entered the audience chamber it seemed to him that they stiffened with a greater degree of respect than they had hitherto shown, as if they already thought they were looking at their sovereign. Even Justus, who as an imperial nephew might harbour resentments, was gazing on him with open respect, this as Bouzes stepped forward and, on receipt of a nod from Flavius, began to speak.

‘It is our belief,
Magister
, that a message be sent immediately to Constantinople and to the Empress Theodora to say that no candidate of hers will be acceptable to us. To also say that if she has already acted, whatever has been decided will be annulled.’

‘You do not fear that to be premature?’

‘How can it be?’ Bouzes barked. He had always been of a bellicose nature and had the physical attributes that went with it: stocky build, a square face of reddened skin and eyes that could actually flash with anger. ‘Can you not see that one of her first acts will be to kill you?’

‘You cannot know that.’

‘If she wishes to live herself, then she will feel she must.’

A murmur of agreement followed that statement, which had Flavius holding up his hand. ‘Let me speak, my friends, please?’

That was sophistry; they had assembled for the sole purpose of hearing him and Bouzes was not the only one seemingly frustrated at what was seen to be prevarication. They wanted Flavius to declare himself, not for his sake but for their own. Like all men, they craved certainty and added to that there would be no lack of ambition; an Emperor Flavius would elevate those he trusted.

‘We know that Justinian is afflicted just as I know, that like me, in your nightly prayers, you begged that he should recover.’

It was hard not to be amused at the differing reactions that engendered; there would be those present who had entered such pleas on the mere grounds of Christian convention, perhaps even one or two who wholeheartedly meant it. At the opposite end of the spectrum would be the men who saw the elevation of their general as a chance for personal advancement. A recovery of his full health by Justinian was not one to entice them to genuine prayer. What Flavius had to disguise was his own reaction to their confusion.

‘But know this. Should God not grant such a dispensation, I will not stand by to see the office of emperor filled by convenience.’

‘You will act?’ Bouzes demanded, on behalf of them all.

‘For the sake of the empire. Now, first we must send a carefully worded despatch back to the capital and the Empress, with a plea for
the recovered health of her husband but also with the counsel that no precipitate act should be contemplated.’

‘Tell them you will put yourself forward,
Magister
,’ cried Justus loudly.

Was that too eager, an attempt to deflect any suspicion of personal ambition? Flavius thought not; the look that accompanied the words was too genuine.

‘There is no need to state the obvious, Justus. Theodora does not lack for brains. She will know that the consequences of seeking to retain power might end badly for her and will value her life above everything.’

‘I know you, Flavius,’ Bouzes called, again with an angry face and so fired by passion as to eschew his title in place of familiarity. ‘You will spare the sorceress.’

‘Again, there is no need to state the obvious.’

He was trying to tell them another palpable fact: that if Justinian did recover what had been discussed in this tent would not be seen in a kindly light, which is why he spent the whole day writing and rewriting his despatch until he was sure it would do as required. It was from him to the palace and under his seal and he gave it to the man charged to carry it personally.

The messengers would have passed each other, perhaps they had even spent the same night in one of the imperial posthouses along the route. Yet they would not have exchanged notice of what they carried, that being a stricture religiously observed. The fellow that entered the portals of Edessa brought what to Flavius was good news.

Justinian had survived the worst of his affliction and was now on the way to recovery. Even in his wildest flights of fancy he could not have imagined how different was the response to the communication
to which he had appended his seal. The Emperor was still too ill to transact business of any kind; the despatch went to Theodora and, as Flavius had pointed out, she was no fool, added to which she had lost nothing.

Narses arrived within two weeks, his instructions to both Bouzes and Flavius were abrupt: they were to return to Constantinople without delay and explain to the imperial estate the meaning of their presumption. The word ‘estate’ told both men that if they were to be examined it would not be by an advocate appointed by Justinian but by his furious consort.

That she would know of the meetings held in the Palace of Edessa was obvious and no doubt, too, she would be aware of what had been discussed down to the very words used. If she did not have spies with the army, highly likely given her previous behaviour, then there were enough people writing to their relatives who would have picked up information while the matter lay in doubt to give her chapter and verse.

‘You will go back under individual escort,’ Narses pronounced with harsh glee, ‘so there will be no chance to collude and concoct some tale to save your skins.’

‘You are so sure they require saving, Narses?’

‘
Magister
?’ asked Bouzes, his red face for once pallid.

Flavius knew for what he was asking. Bouzes wanted him to arrest Narses then pronounce a rebellion, something he could not even contemplate. In declining he was condemning himself and Bouzes to an uncertain fate. How could he convey by a mere look that what Bouzes was asking for was impossible, and not just for him?

The army might well have acclaimed him and backed his cause with Justinian dead but it would not do the same if he still lived. There was a huge difference between a just act to prevent an outrage
and outright rebellion, and he would never ask for such a pledge.

To do so would turn the whole empire against them and initiate the civil war he had feared if Theodora had acted precipitously. Men who might have stood aside and allowed his candidacy to proceed would not be so inclined if he rebelled. Like Vitalian, the insurrectionist general he had first followed as a youth, he might find himself outside the mighty walls of Constantinople with the entire establishment of the empire, military and civilian, ranged against him. Others might claim a citizenry willing to offer support; they did not count, and anyway only a fool would place reliance on such a fickle entity.