Triumph (10 page)

Caught between two forces the Goths, too far off from their other camps to be supported, paid the price. They were slaughtered in droves, few getting clear. Flavius retired to the city having sent to Witigis the necessary message: do not dare detach men from the siege of Rome for it will cost you dearly.

The King of the Goths had similar information at that point to his adversary; he knew that there were reinforcements coming from Naples as well as their numbers. Witigis was also aware that sailing up the coast was a strong Byzantine fleet, which made holding on to some of his more extended possessions, especially blocking the ports, untenable.

Disease was stalking his forces too, and his men being almost prisoners in their own camps had left him with a dispirited set of warriors deeply sick of this fight, a mood which would not be aided by the arrival of the Byzantine reinforcements. It was time to talk and Flavius was called to the Porta Salaria to receive envoys asking that he parley.

A meeting was arranged in a special tent set up close to the gate, given Witigis would not enter Rome and Flavius declined to go far from the safety of the city walls. Face to face for the first time the two men naturally sought to assess each other, as no doubt did the inferior officers both had brought along.

Flavius saw a man much taller than he, for Witigis had imposing height. The head was large, the features heavy under thick greying
hair and a single impressive eyebrow. The impression could not be avoided that the Goth would have been a hard man to best in single combat, no doubt one of the reasons he had been elected to his position.

What Witigis observed would look slight to a man of his frame but if he knew anything about Flavius Belisarius he would be aware that he was dealing with a man who could hold his own when wielding weapons. The shoulders were not excessively wide and nor was the body imposing, but the real key to the man lay in the calm expression and steady eyes, under dark curled hair and with a face framed by that thin black beard.

‘You have no right to be here, Flavius Belisarius.’

There was no sitting down, no air that this might be a passive exchange between equals. The Latin was guttural and far from perfect in its composition, the tone as harsh as the expression on the face of the Goth King. Flavius decided the anger was genuine, not faked; Witigis believed every word of what he had just said.

‘No right? I am in Rome at the express command of the Emperor Justinian, who has title to the whole of the lands of Italy. They are part of the Roman Empire.’

‘Long since lost!’

‘Theodoric ruled at the behest of the predecessors of Justinian. Since those who succeeded have failed to acknowledge him as their overlord he has sent me to take back that which he owns.’

‘Why take what you cannot hold? I demand that you hand back the provinces of South Italy that you have stolen and return them to my authority. If some hollow title is needed by your master, the same arrangement he enjoyed with Theodoric, God rest his soul, then I am willing to let him enjoy it.’

‘Even if I was inclined to accede to your demand – which, I may
add, I am not – I lack the authority to do so. Only Justinian can decide on such a weighty matter.’

‘You are his legate in Italy.’

‘I am in command of his armies, that is all.’

Flavius and Procopius had discussed what might come out of this meeting and the kernel of it was needs rather than outcomes. Antonina had tried to do likewise and been brusquely informed it was none of her business, even if her husband knew how such a message, conveyed to Theodora, would be taken.

Winter was coming, the Byzantine army was not in perfect condition and it was possible the Goths were equally afflicted. Witigis could no more win than Flavius. What both men needed was time, to rebuild the health of their men and the potency of the forces they led. It was thus a theatrical gesture that had Procopius lean forward and whisper in his master’s ear; the words were already known.

‘It may be, King Witigis’ – the courtesy of the title got a sharp nod, it being the first acknowledgement of his position – ‘that my emperor will be open to what you suggest, I cannot say. All I can do is repeat to you that I will hold what I have until ordered to surrender it. So if you want an answer, one I am not empowered to provide, you must go to where it can be considered.’

‘You think I would go to Constantinople?’ Witigis sneered. ‘Do you see me of so little account that I must go in person to beg?’

‘If you choose to go or to send envoys is none of my concern. All I know is that the journey and return will take time and that is without any idea of how long any discussions will last. I am aware that we are both at a stand. You will never retake Rome with the forces you have and I lack the means to drive you away.’

The pause was long before Witigis acknowledged that with a sharp nod; he knew it to be the case but there was no pleasure in admitting it.

‘So we need to create time, say three months, when such a journey can be undertaken and our differences can perhaps be resolved at a higher level.’

The locked eyes were more revealing than the words; neither man believed Justinian would agree to surrender anything his general had so far recovered, but Witigis might have something to gain just by talking, perhaps the right to peacefully retain what he still held.

‘A three-month truce!’

‘Starting at dawn tomorrow,’ Flavius responded.

The delay in replying was purely for pride and appearance to convince those who had accompanied him of his solemn consideration; really there was no choice, but Witigis made great play of adopting a pensive pose, his eyes lowered and his hand on his firm, square chin.

‘No. I need time to consider. What I will agree to is a cessation of hostilities until I have consulted with my nobles.’

‘Agreed.’

W
itigis, having delayed for the sake of his pride and his standing, finally agreed the truce, giving Flavius good reason to believe the initiative had begun to swing in his favour, something of which he was determined to take advantage. The Byzantine fleet had arrived, escorting to Antium a large convoy of merchant ships, and these were unloaded and their cargoes transported to Rome immediately, relieving the dearth of supply and raising the morale of soldiers and civilians alike.

Within days his reinforcements arrived, the cavalry elements immediately sent to take over certain strategic places that the Goths were obliged to abandon as being too isolated to hold, like the fortress of Portus they had constructed as a lock on Roman provisioning. The presence of that strong fleet and the men that could be deployed from the ships, added to those fresh troops, made continued occupation too risky.

Likewise they had to give up Albanum, which commanded one of the other major supply routes into the capital. The hill city was soon occupied and a camp set up, much to the anger of the Goths, but when the men Witigis had deputed to negotiate with the Byzantines complained, Procopius, handed the day-to-day negotiations, was emollient but firm.

‘Flavius Belisarius has issued very strict instructions to all of his men taking over positions previously held by you. They are merely in place to occupy while the truce is in place and are to remain within their encampments and are strictly barred from undertaking any offensive actions unless driven to do so for the purposes of defence.’

Witigis might not like it, but such actions were things he had to accept. Less pleasing to the man making these manoeuvres was the presence of his wife, not least in the way her being in their shared villa altered his life. Not for Antonina quiet solitude and time to ponder on responsibilities and the means of thwarting the Goths; she sought company and now his home was often full of his off-duty officers eating, drinking, carousing and flattering a woman, now long past her prime, who soaked up their insincerities without a trace of modesty.

It was telling who did not attend, either through lack of an invitation or a personal disinclination to accept. Constantinus was an exemplar of that, as were those officers who, like him, came from the patrician class, Antonia’s guests being of a less refined hue. Never happy at such gatherings Flavius could at least get away to carry out his nightly rounds. Truce or no truce they were still at war and such fripperies seemed inappropriate.

As had been predicted by Pope Vigilius, his dethroned predecessor Silverius arrived and was handed over, not before he had been obliged to endure a tirade from Antonina in which it was implied that the serene old man seemed to have been responsible for everything since Noah’s flood. Finally he was released into the hands of those who would interrogate him with a few kinder words from her husband.

‘The charge against me, Flavius Belisarius, is false. I did not betray you.’

The response masked a degree of embarrassment; there had been doubt, both at the time and since, that Silverius was involved. ‘I hope and pray that is true.’

‘Then I ask that you examine me, given you have the right.’

‘I cannot, I have given Vigilius my word.’

Which was as good a way of telling the old silver-haired man that he had no intention of getting embroiled in what was essentially a dispute on dogma. After a short silence, Silverius produced a slight nod.

‘I wonder, is God easier to serve than a mere mortal clad in purple?’

Further evidence of the loss of Goth power came with an embassy from Milan, led by their bishop, offering to surrender the city and the whole of Liguria if Flavius would provide the men to hold it. While agreeing to the request, he also sensed it might be a step too far. Goad he might, but he did not want to be the one who broke the truce, so he kept the envoys from Milan talking without acting on that which they desired.

The notion of keeping secret the arrival and presence of such envoys was impossible. Reports began to come in of certain movements by the Goths that raised the danger that they might be preparing to react. The first indication was along one of the broken aqueducts, where the men on guard reported they had seen torches. Flavius and Photius went out personally to investigate, to find the burnt remnants by the wall blocking the aqueduct.

‘Naples,’ Photius remarked. ‘He must have heard of it.’

Flavius ordered more patrols and greater vigilance, as well as extra pickets on all the broken aqueducts: if Witigis was probing for weaknesses it could only be for one purpose, to seek to take Rome by some trick, but in that he was wrong. Ennes, alert to the possibilities of a sudden attack and in command at the Porta Piciana, observed the Goths beginning to deploy in battle formation right in front of his gates.

He sent word to Flavius but did not wait for a response, instead
exiting at the head of his cavalry to break up the assault before it could be got into motion. The Goths, caught while the ranks were still disordered, broke and fled but not before they suffered many losses. Flavius had Procopius insist the truce was broken; not so, responded the Goth envoys, the troops Ennes had destroyed had not been assembled to press home an attack, but were merely drilling.

‘So what did you say to that, Husband?’

‘Maintaining the truce suits me more than Witigis.’

‘He might see it as cowardice.’

Looking at his wife, Flavius wondered if he still had any residual regard for her, aware that he could not answer in either a positive or a negative sense. He was tied to Antonina by the insoluble bonds of matrimony, added to which she was the mother of his daughter, now being cared for in Constantinople under the watchful care of Theodora. That put the Empress into the marital equation: how would she react if her friend was maltreated or abandoned?

There were, too, appearances to maintain; it might be the case, as Procopius had more than once hinted, that her indiscretions were no secret amongst his senior officers, but the chatter of such men he discounted. The bulk of his force consisted of middle ranks and common soldiers who, if they cared to look, must see their general confident, even in his domestic life.

The presence of Antonina meant he saw a lot less of Photius, who could neither stand to be in her company nor command his tongue when they did meet. If he was careful of his stepfather’s sensibilities he knew how to issue barbed comments that would make sense to his mother, if no one else. As for Procopius, their relationship was pure poison and he took care to keep them apart. Only Solomon, of those close to him, was able to behave with indifference to her presence.

The question she had posed and the manner in which she had
spoken irritated him; what happened in negotiations with Witigis had nothing to do with Antonina, not that she behaved as if that was the case. He had to assume she was driven by her need to write to Theodora, and in doing so have matters of importance to impart, either with honesty or otherwise, he could never be sure which.

‘Do I not qualify for an answer?’ she demanded when his long silence irritated her.

‘I am not fool enough to actually believe them.’

‘The real question to which I seek an answer, Flavius, is this. Where is this all leading?’

The tone of voice had gone from challenging to silky in a blink, and given she was embroidering that allowed her to look at her work and not hold his eye. She was fishing, of that Flavius had no doubt, seeking to get from him words that would feed the obsessions of her imperial friend, like some indication of personal ambition. He wanted to ask how she could be so treacherous; he could not for the very simple reason Antonina saw where her loyalties lay very differently from those of her husband.

‘First the conquest of the whole of Italy.’

‘First?’

‘Then Hispania and Gaul. That is Justinian’s ambition.’

‘You’re sure it is not more your own?’

‘How many times have you posed such a query, Antonina?’

That made her look up, the air of innocence she sought to adopt insincere. ‘I don’t recall ever having done so.’

‘I think the first time was before we ever landed in North Africa and I can remember several occasions since.’

‘You’re imagining things, Husband, and not for the first time.’

‘It is the imaginings of others that cause the problem.’

The weary response came without any of the emphasis that should
have accompanied the words, this as Solomon entered to indicate to Flavius he needed to speak with him, a hand held up to ask him to wait.

‘What others?’ Antonina asked, again all innocence. Did she actually want him to decry Theodora by name just so that she could communicate that to Constantinople?

‘You know as well as I do,’ was what he said, standing and making for the doorway. ‘Better, perhaps.’

‘I have not finished,’ she snapped at his back.

‘Yes you have, Antonina.’

Solomon had retreated to the corridor outside where a quartet of the men on duty were guarding an Isaurian soldier. On seeing the general the fellow knelt in greeting as the commander who had disarmed him, began to explain.

‘This soldier is one of the sentinels on the Tiber walls, General. He has come to tell you of a conspiracy to overcome them.’

A brief exchange established the precise location, the point at which the east walls straddled the river and the builders had relied much more on the river itself to provide protection than high masonry. It soon emerged that this man was one of the contingent that had only recently arrived from the south.

‘The Goths are at the heart of the plot, I take it?’ That got a fearful, nodding acknowledgement, as if the fellow was wondering that he might have been too hasty in coming to Flavius. ‘Solomon, please fetch Procopius. You, stand up and look at me.’

The Isaurian could do the first but not the second. He stood head bowed but silent as they waited for Procopius, who, occupying quarters very close to those of Flavius, soon came hurrying into the corridor.

‘Now speak.’

‘They gave us money—’

‘They?’ Procopius barked, which got him a jaundiced look from his master.

‘To do what?’ Flavius asked in a gentle tone.

‘The nightly ration of wine, drugged, we was to give it to our mates an’ that would allow the Goths to clamber over the walls, them not being as high as elsewhere and our lads slumbering.’

‘Who suggested this to you?’

‘My close comrade roped me in, said we would be in clover if the Goths took the city with just our help. I didn’t want no part of it but I went along so’s I could put a stopper in it.’

Flavius pressed for details and if it did not come out clearly there was no doubting the story. Witigis had not given up on his notion of a coup and the bribing of sentries was a gambit that always had to be guarded against. Leave the walls unprotected for even a short period and the Goths could get enough men into the city to overcome the guards at one of the gates and open it.

Enemy warriors had taken advantage of the truce to spend time close to that part of the walls, ostensibly fishing in the river, which allowed for contact. Over several days natural animosity would give way to indifference and curiosity, then banter and even the odd friendly exchange, given soldiers of any hue were so inclined even if strict instructions were given to avoid it. It was something their officers should have seen and come down upon hard.

‘What rank is this comrade?’

‘Same as me, Your Honour, lowest of the low in the
auxilia
.’

‘You will identify him?’ A nod as Flavius addressed the guard commander. ‘Take him back to his place of duty and fetch the traitor.’

‘Am I to bring him here?’

‘No, take him to your barracks. I will meet you there.’

Both Flavius and Procopius stood in silence until the Isaurian and his escort had departed, the secretary finally giving an opinion.

‘That fellow is not of the rank for such a plot, and by deduction neither is his comrade.’

Flavius slowly shook his head, but it was more in frustration as he agreed with Procopius. Somewhere in this there would be an officer, but how senior? ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

‘Hot irons?’

‘And more. We must uncover who it is willing to sell us out. A man once bent on betrayal will not stop.’

A night of extreme pain from one Isaurian ranker revealed nothing; the fellow confessed to the plot but named no other, which left Flavius with the only option open to him. The severely damaged traitor was mounted and lashed onto an ass, that led by halter to the main Goth camp. The message was to Witigis, indicating he was in receipt of a gift as useless as his attempts to take Rome.

With matters progressing so well it seemed to Flavius that problems, long lain dormant, had begun to resurface, not least in the behaviour of his reinforcements, men not attuned to the thinking of their general. Several were executed for transgressions against the citizens they were supposed to be in Italy to protect. Flavius hoped the message had got through when misbehaviour of a greater magnitude was brought before him at one of his now regular audiences during which he heard petitions.

‘Where did this take place?’

Flavius asked with a sinking feeling, not relieved when he looked around the chamber and saw how many people were present and listening, including Antonina, who insisted on a raised dais like his own at which to sit at these assemblies, albeit her husband kept it at a discreet distance.

‘Spoletum, Excellency.’

Presidius, the petitioner and a Roman citizen, was taken through his tale three times, once by Flavius, twice more by Procopius, as they sought inconstancies but there were none. Resident in Ravenna and fearing Goth revenge against the citizens of Rome, he had fled on the news of the capture of the city, having buried his coffers in his garden. But he took with him two objects of such value as to maintain him for as long as necessary, namely a pair of jewel-encrusted daggers with solid gold hilts.