Triumph (28 page)

Sounding genuine took some effort; he had not been entirely against the notion Procopius had advanced, that in such a role he could cast his less than wholehearted companion aside. Even thinking about it now, he was not sure he would not have been tempted, despite the threat to his soul. Procopius had countered that fear by hinting at a papal dispensation.

‘I could never be her equal,’ Antonina insisted, not entirely convincingly.

‘And you are all the better for it.’ Given he rarely even came close to flattery with his wife, that had some effect. ‘You have often hinted that I do not treat you with the respect you deserve.’

‘Like a chattel most of the time, and when was the last time you came to my bed?’

Flavius did not react with his usual excuse of being either too busy or in recovery from some fight or other; he was long past feeling much passion for Antonina. Yet he had never said so, having, through a natural kindness that had appalled both Procopius and Photius, declined to employ words that would wound her feelings. There was also the residual thought, which was far from flattering to him, that insulting her would not be wise.

‘There is no more important mission to be undertaken. The only person of greater standing than you Antonina, is me, and I cannot leave my command without being suspected of rebellion, the very thing I choose to utterly deny. Must I plead with you?’

A soft probing response. ‘You would make it known that I am important?’

‘Not important, vital.’

A pout now. ‘You know that some of your officers feel free to insult me at any time of their choosing.’

They don’t, Flavius thought, but you, my dear, see an insult in a want of adulation.

‘I have not observed it,’ was the feeble response.

‘Then, Flavius,’ she hissed, ‘as I have always contended, you are blind.’

The way she paced a bit, her arms hugging her body, he knew to be role playing. When she stopped and looked at him he felt certain she was about to agree to his request.

‘I want you to call a meeting of all your senior officers.’

‘Why?’

‘If you are going to announce the need for an embassy to Constantinople and if you are so insistent that I am the only one you can trust to carry it out, that is something I would wish to be stated in public.’ The voice hardened. ‘I want to see the faces of those who feel free to slight me when you announce that.’

‘Of course,’ came the reply; it was small price to pay so she could gloat.

‘And as soon as that has been arranged you must go aboard a fast galley to Dyrrachium and on my authority employ every means at your disposal to make the fastest journey possible.’

That clearly appealed: to be able to order every posthouse resident to provide her with transport. Antonina loved ordering her maids around; now she would be able to command men to obey. To watch her swell as her mission was announced, to a gathering of officers who could not fathom why they had been summoned, had amusing elements to Antonina’s husband. In her it produced obvious and rather unbecoming conceit.

Antonina never returned to Italy. She made a fast journey and what came back, sent by her and brought to Flavius by imperial messenger, was much more telling. Theodora was no more; she had died after a short illness and by the tone of Antonina’s letter, the fate of the Army of Italy was of secondary concern. What would she do now her patron was gone?

The message from Justinian arrived right on the heels of that from his wife; it was a categorical order that
Comes
Flavius Belisarius relinquish his command in the peninsula and return with all speed to Constantinople.

T
his was no homecoming in triumph; if not quite the reverse Flavius had no reason to expect any kind of grand welcome and nor was one provided. There was to be no docking at the private imperial harbour, the landing was in the main dock area. Yet Antonina, alerted to the vessel bearing his standard was in the offing, was on the quayside to greet him. As soon as he landed she rushed forward to kneel at his feet and having grabbed his hand, kiss it.

‘My prayers have been answered.’

The welcome threw Flavius; overt displays of affection had been rare in their marriage for quite a long time but it did not take much thought to discern Antonina’s reasoning: with Theodora gone she was without high-level protection and she would have reasoned, as had he, that Justinian had not recalled him at such a time to inflict on him any kind of punishment.

‘Whatever fears you had Antonina, let them rest.’

Up came the face, with damp eyes. ‘I feared only for your person. You were surrounded in Italy by many who would be jealous of what position you could be elevated to. And then there is the sea itself, never still and always dangerous.’

That she was deliberately avoiding the real reason he had to expect,
which annoyed Flavius. Surely for once she could be truthful and say she needed him and his protection. In amongst all his speculations on the voyage – and they had ranged far and wide – what to do about his errant wife had barely surfaced. Had he become so immune to her endemic underhandedness as to just take it as part of the life he had to live?

‘I sent word to the palace as soon as I heard your galley had been sighted.’

‘Then I best make my way there.’

The response was swift. ‘Is it not better to wait? Is not best to let Justinian summon you rather than appear too ardent to kneel at his feet.’

‘I don’t kneel at his feet,’ Flavius replied with real anger. ‘Others may give way to Persian follies, not me!’

To accompany that rebuke he hauled Antonina to her feet to see confusion in her expression, which was part a frown yet mixed with uncertainty: she probably wanted to chide him but was cautious of doing so.

‘If you go to the palace I shall not accompany you.’

‘Because you don’t want to or you cannot?’

The old Antonina emerged then, her eyes flashing. ‘Do you need to be so deliberately cruel?’

‘I wasn’t aware of being so, but it is obvious that with Theodora dead you are no longer such a welcome visitor to the parts of the palace she once occupied. Which makes me wonder where you have been laying your head.’

‘At our villa, where else?’

‘Then go back there, Antonina.’

‘You will come there?’

‘Of course. Where else would I go?’

It came as no surprise that Justinian kept him waiting. For all the peremptory nature of his command to return, he would still be conscious of his rank; emperors did not inconvenience themselves for anyone. That accepted, the time he took to send for Flavius rankled, so it was a far from benign
comes sacri stabuli
who, having gone through many more layers of bodyguards and Excubitors than had ever previously protected Justinian, was ushered into his presence.

At least there was daylight; the drapes were open, albeit there were two broad-shouldered guards outside to ensure no one could cast a spear into the room and kill him. He looked better than the last time Flavius had clapped eyes on him, fuller of face and body, though he had never been large. The two men appraised each other for several seconds before Justinian spoke.

‘You have gone grey, Count Belisarius.’

‘Who would not in your service, Excellency?’

‘Are you going to make things difficult?’

‘I am obliged to ask what things.’

‘Do you know how few people are ever allowed to sit in my presence, Flavius?’

‘And I am supposed to grovel for being allowed to occasionally do so?’

Flavius knew he was pushing and perhaps too hard. As Justinian slowly shook his head, as if he was being faced by something preposterous, Flavius could not help but examine the motives for his own contrariness, almost as if he wished to cause discord between them. If this was his aim, he failed, given Justinian smiled, his head canting in that familiar way as he did so.

‘It is refreshing, if exasperating, Flavius that you do not change.’

‘For which I have always hoped, too often in vain, that you would respect me.’

‘Does it not show respect that I want you by my side?’

Flavius was about to ask for what, but that would have bordered on the foolish. He had reasoned over the weeks of travel that with Theodora gone Justinian might lack a trustworthy companion, for whatever had been her fantasies and intrigues she had been his faithful helpmeet and there was a need for a replacement. Justinian had more or less stated by what he had just said that was what he desired.

Was the prospect one to savour for a man who had never been at home in the imperial palace? Flavius thought not but he also knew that if commanded to fulfil such a role he had no choice but to obey.

‘Would it displease you if I said I am a soldier and I would be happier employed as such?’

The reply was coldly pragmatic. ‘What I need takes precedence over any desires you may have.’

‘You know I am no good at,’ Flavius waved, unable to think of the right words, ‘what goes on within these walls.’

‘Never fear, Flavius. I have rediscovered since my sad loss that I still am.’

What transpired felt at first like some kind of limbo. He was accommodated in the imperial palace, given a set of apartments close to those of Justinian, and it was made plain to all who counselled him that Flavius Belisarius was amongst their number and important, a fact driven home by the number of private conversations he had with the Emperor as well as the fact that he and Antonina would accompany Justinian twice daily to pray at the Church of the Holy Apostles where Theodora was buried.

From his wife, now happily back in the palace too, he heard of the death of the Empress, caused by a mammary malignancy, which she had kept hidden for some time until it could no longer be kept
from view. Justinian had been distraught at the loss and that was emphasised by the way, when he spoke alone with Flavius and a difficulty was aired, he was often to say what his late wife would have done.

She had been heavily involved in religious arguments and it was in an act of faithfulness – apparently he had sworn at her deathbed – that Justinian put much effort into seeking an accommodation between the Monophysites of Asia Minor and Eygpt and the European proponents of Chalcedon. It was not a circumstance to make Flavius happy: he was used in this as an honest broker between what he knew to be a pair of irreconcilable positions.

‘They will never agree,
Autokrator
.’

The use of that Greek term of address, employed by everyone else close to the Emperor now, had been a small concession of Flavius and the first time he had employed it Justinian had given him an odd look, until he got the underlying meaning that his
comes
had finally accepted his role as a courtier.

Naturally his elevation to such a position caused resentment among men who saw him as a rival and as Flavius set his mind to understanding how the structures of power operated in the empire his appreciation of the burden Justinian carried grew. It had never been a mystery to him that the polity was too large for one man to govern, yet the complexity, once he began to get a grip on it, staggered him.

His first lesson was in rank. It was easy to assume that certain titles meant a man was more powerful than those of lesser station, yet that was untrue. In a system that had been based on clientism since the days of the Republic, it soon became apparent that a title meant little; it was to whom you were attached, either a superior or a whole host of inferiors, that granted power and there was one very obvious fact: Flavius Belisarius was sadly lacking in such support.

Many sought to ensnare him and that was tempting, more to Antonina than to her husband, and she would comment frequently upon the opportunities. It was, of course for her a subject to which she was committed and he was not: money. Corruption was rife but it seemed to trouble his emperor little.

‘It does not concern you that men line their own purses at great cost to the empire?’

Justinian sighed, as if the subject was one of which he was weary. ‘The better ones fetch in more than they steal and in my place you soon learn that many attempts have been made to find another system of governance and most have proved disastrous.’

‘The Cappadocian, how much did he steal?’

To Flavius this was a cause close to his heart; his armies had suffered particularly from the depredation of that man.

‘He did what all office holders do, but look at the courts and the manner in which they were reformed. How many of our judiciary are no longer patricians looking after the interest of their class?’

‘I seem to recall John replaced them in venality. He was adept at selling verdicts.’

‘Less adept at seeking power.’

Say nothing Flavius; he had learnt quickly that any criticism of Theodora was most unwelcome and to mention her entrapment of John would never serve. The hardest occasion to remain silent was when Justinian thanked him for his gift of part of his fortune. Theodora had told her husband Flavius had insisted upon it, when he had never even been consulted. He could have asked for it back, but why would he when he was now in receipt of so much imperial bounty?

Slowly but surely lines were being drawn within the bureaucracy between those who resented Flavius and wanted to actively work to
diminish him and the others who sought to recruit him into backing whatever cause they were presently pursuing. Narses soon showed he was an enemy, while the likes of John the Cappadocian, partly restored, made moves to appear an ally.

A quickly rising Ancinius Probus Vicinus was solidly placed in the lower ranks of officials, he having attached himself to a powerful patrician clan who had once supported his father and uncle. Both were seen as victims of Belisarian malice, his hatred fuelling their attitude. He discussed the matter with Justinian, given the Emperor knew as much about the case of Senuthius Vicinus as did he.

He had also come closer to understanding the bond that had existed between the imperial couple. There had been a sexual element, of course, though he never even hinted at wishing to have that defined. Being an emperor was a position of utter loneliness if you had no one at all to confide in. If it had within it elements of genuine affection, the pair had a bond that rested on mutual survival. Justinian was as aware as his wife of what would happen to her if he lost his throne or expired. He therefore knew without equivocation that she would always act on his behalf.

His own marriage had settled into what seemed a convenience; Antonina enjoyed what she saw as the glory reflected on her by her husband’s position. Naturally, given her vanity and inability to see the wood for the trees, she assumed to herself inappropriate airs and graces and was quick to complain to Flavius if she felt slighted. For the sake of peace he assured her the supposed miscreant would hear of it; they never did, for he was as opposed to wasting his breath as he had been to wasting his soldiers’ lives.

Yet in one area he found himself powerless against her. The betrothal of his daughter Ioannina, arranged by Theodora, no longer found favour with Antonina; how quickly had her old companion
gone from saint to sinner, to be lambasted for matters in which Antonina had previously been her stout supporter. The betrothal was to be called off, which had Ioannina come to her father, whom she barely knew, asking him to intercede, given she had formed a genuine affection for the imperial nephew. Here she was before him, a sweet child of tender years, in tears and her apparently so powerful parent was in no position to help her.

‘It was your fortune Theodora was after, don’t you see? Ioannina is your sole heir. The whole thing was arranged when she gave it back to you. That woman, when I think of some of the things she did!’

‘The child is unhappy,’ Flavius pleaded.

‘For now,’ Antonina scoffed. ‘Take it from one who knows, when you clearly do not. She will get over it.’

If there were matters of religion to occupy him, Flavius did not forget the military, and Justinian always consulted him when such matters were raised. The enmity with Narses was barely disguised and it proved to be something Justinian could not settle, even if he made his displeasure known. The old eunuch would counter any proposal advanced by Flavius and that applied to the continuing running sore of Italy.

‘Narses is ever badgering me for a military command and I weary of you two fighting like cats in a sack.’

‘Not as much as I do,
Autokrator
.’

‘I am minded to send him to take command in Italy now that Germanus is gone.’

An imperial nephew, Germanus had been proposed by Flavius as a fitting man to take command in Italy. On his way he was obliged to divert and repel a large incursion by the Slavs. That achieved and on his way to Italy once more, Germanus had fallen ill and died. A replacement was urgently required.

‘He could be a good choice.’

‘Flavius, he’s your sworn foe.’

‘What bearing does that have?’

‘Of course, he would be out of your hair.’

‘What’s left of it,’ came the reply, which got an imperial frown. Justinian was well ahead of Flavius in hair loss. ‘But that has nothing to do with my opinion, though I will say this. It matters less who you send to Italy than that they are given the means to ensure success.’

‘The cost, Flavius,’ Justinian moaned.

‘Not to spend now is foolish. And if anyone can conquer Italy completely think of the taxes that will produce. Besides, Narses is your Treasury Chamberlain. If anyone can find the money he can, perhaps in the coffers in his cellar.’

Did the eunuch ever learn that his subsequent successes had come from the arguments advanced by Flavius Belisarius? Did he know that when he made such slow progress – it took him a whole year to get from Illyria to Italy proper – that the same man calmed Justinian and prevented his recall? Narses arrived in the peninsula with that which Flavius had never had, a huge army and over the three years of his campaign he utterly destroyed Goth power.