by Jack Ludlow
‘Where is this ship now? I cannot believe it is in the Hippo Regius harbour.’
‘It was not felt such a berth would be secure.’
‘For your head or what you carried?’ That got a non-committal display of open palms. ‘So you have come to treat, using the latter to preserve the former?’
‘Wise as well as mighty. I am, as you will guess, not a sailing man. I also have with me not only the master and crew, people to whom I have become attached, but members of my own family. Naturally I would want assurances of their safety before surrendering so valuable a prize.’
‘And, of course,’ Procopius remarked, his cynicism barely disguised, ‘you will hand over it all.’
‘Why would I not?’ came the reply, which was sophistry of the highest order.
Flavius had arched his fingers before his mouth, as if in deep thought, but really to hide a smile; this courtier, and he was that to the very end of his own fingertips, did not know of his intention to amnesty every Vandal or of the announcement he was about to make promulgating that throughout the old kingdom.
Procopius leant over to whisper in his ear that this rogue before them would certainly be in the process of hiding a goodly proportion of what he had been tasked to transport, which Flavius could do no more than acknowledge. But the man would have to show some caution; there would be documents somewhere that listed the plunder that the Vandals had accumulated over two centuries, as well as human memory. He would have to be careful what and how much he purloined.
‘And the ship is now where?’ A shrug that annoyed. ‘I could have you racked to find out.’
‘There is a limit to the patience the master will show should I not return.’
On considering that, it became probable that this Bonifatius knew that his late master was locked up in Medeus, or he may not be sure of that as a detail, but he was certain the Vandal hold on the kingdom was no more. If he had dipped his fingers in the pie of Gelimer’s treasure it would be a hard hoard to find. What he was being told was that he, the mighty Belisarius, would not find any of it and he thought he knew what this Bonifatius was really after.
‘You served your king well?’
The word ‘king’ was the clue to a sharp thinker, a long-serving courtier with a bureaucrat’s mind. ‘I would hope if he were present he would say so, and that would apply to the man Gelimer replaced.’ Bonifatius crossed himself, which was not the Arian way. ‘May Hilderic’s soul rest in peace, for he was a good man.’
‘I have taken over responsibility for the governance of what is now an imperial province.’
‘In mere months. Who would have thought it possible?’
‘Perhaps God,’ Procopius sneered.
‘It is to him we look for wisdom,’ came the calm reply.
‘There will be occasions, Bonifatius, when in dealing with those we now rule, matters arise that require a knowledge of how the province was previously governed.’
‘I would see it as my duty to aid the peaceful transfer of power so that as little harm comes to those for whom I care as it does to my own body.’
‘And if I was to offer you a chance to bring that about?’
‘I could not bring myself to reject such a blessed opportunity, for God would never forgive me.’
‘The ship?’
‘Is anchored to the west in a shallow bay, awaiting my return.’
‘Which you will make in my company, Bonifatius.’ Sensing the bodily tension to one side, Flavius added, ‘As, of course, the man who must make an inventory of what we find.’
‘Flabbergasted’ is a word that can only rarely be applied but it was apposite when the holds of the ship were opened and the numerous chests were brought on deck and opened. Not only were there objects of gold and silver studded with precious stones, there were chests of coin enough to pay for the whole expedition Justinian had initiated. Then there were the relics of Christian martyrs looted from churches and abbeys all through Gaul, South-west France and Hispania, more than enough in these alone for Gelimer to buy from the Visigoths a life of ease.
Procopius was tasked with the listing of the totals, with Flavius questioning Bonifatius about which object would be of most personal worth to Gelimer? The surprise came in the form of the bones of St Sebastian, looted from the Vandal sacking of Rome, now encased in a golden casket and personally venerated by the now deposed king.
Flavius put together a strong party from his comitatus led by Boriades – he could not risk their loss – with orders to take the casket to Pharas at Medeus, where it could be shown to Gelimer as proof that his last hope, to escape to Hispania and be in possession of enough treasure to mount a reconquest of the Vandal kingdom – Flavius was sure that would have been his intention – was no more.
Pharas had sat idly watching Medeus for weeks now, knowing that with no food getting in and none of the inhabitants getting out he was engaged in a war of attrition, a siege in which starvation would bring a result. It was a situation that did not suit him and was anathema to his Heruls, who saw the chance of slaughter and plunder in front of their eyes, albeit they needed to be raised to have sight of the city perched on a rocky outcrop, while they sat and cooked their food, drank their wheaten beer and told tales of Germanic bravery and deeds of heroism.
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.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Other 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 dis
belief 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.’
