by Jack Ludlow
‘Yet you must agree that I am entitled to ask for an explanation?’
‘I am not sure I understand the nature of what you are asking.’
‘He stood unmoving when it was clear that battle had been joined.’
Blastos turned away to address a wall, thus breaking eye contact. ‘Senuthius stuck rigidly to the standing arrangements he made with your father.’
Much as Decimus Belisarius hated the senator he had a need to deal with a man upon whose support he depended if any incursions lay beyond the capabilities of the cohort he led, trying as it was to do so. If nothing serious had happened for years, precautions had to be taken against such an occurrence and plans laid to counter it. Flavius could easily recall when such meetings had taken place, they being ones from which his father returned in a foul mood, making little attempt to hide from the family his frustration.
‘Then why did those plans fail?’
The already deep voice dropped an octave. ‘My son, only God will ever know.’
‘Yet surely you, of all people, know the mind of Senuthius Vicinus?’ There was flattery in the way Flavius said that, as if it was too obvious to be denied, yet more spooned on as he added, ‘Are you not also his very close friend and confidant, indeed his confessor? I find it impossible to believe he would act in a way he had not yet discussed with you.’
The reply was yet again addressed to the wall and the voice, for the first time, showed a hint of real uncertainty. Blastos was pinned by his own vanity; he could not admit that he had no knowledge of the thoughts of a man who was his patron and one he wanted everyone to believe was his equal and friend. If the truth was not obvious to the bishop, it was to anyone with eyes to see; he was in no way the senator’s equal, more a lackey than a companion.
‘I do not say that your father and Senuthius always saw eye to eye, but in this matter they were in full agreement. I seem to recall, though it’s some time ago, four years if am a-minded right, what was planned. That should there be another serious attack, the imperial cohort would seek to get between the intruders and their boats to secure the riverbank and hold it while the militia under Senuthius drove them onto their swords, though, of course, knowledge on what was intended had to be kept to the very few who needed to know, so you would not have been aware of it. I doubt your father told anyone, he being a man who knew how people gossip and was well able to keep things close to his chest.’
Having delivered this statement Blastos turned back to face the youngster, looking him full in the eye, which caused Flavius acute discomfort: Belisarius senior had certainly never told him what was planned and as for keeping quiet about things? Blastos missed the sense of that reaction, concluding very quickly that his listener was unconvinced, that more was required, so he carried on, his voice sounding less than wholly confident.
‘If I understand little of war, I do know it is all confusion once battle is joined. Something took place that could not have been foreseen, something that caused your father to alter his tactics. It saddens me to say that if you look for the cause of this unfortunate event, it is there you must go.’
The temptation to scream was near to overwhelming; how could he so blatantly lie? Sound alone would have told Senuthius what was happening and that he needed to react. Even with his lack of years it had been obvious to Flavius, so why was it not obvious to him?
Gregory Blastos now fixed him with a steady look, of the kind that was meant to imply enough had been said on the subject and that he was too young to understand the ramifications of matters better judged by his elders. It was time to move on, Blastos demanding to know if he had sent word to his mother.
Such an abrupt change of subject threw the youngster; obviously the bishop was keen to get away from a discussion he found awkward, and much as the son wanted to pursue it, there was little point. His mood, after that last insult to the memory of his father and brothers, was so far from collected he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. The short pause before he replied in the affirmative was necessary to steady both his racing pulse as well as his bitterness.
‘Have you asked her to return?’
‘I must leave it to her to decide. If she wishes to gaze upon the very spot of our misery then I will go and fetch her, for it would be unbecoming that she should travel alone with her grief, and that I have told her. What I have written will provide a poor substitute for the truth.’
‘Truth?’ Blastos asked, as if such a thing was untoward.
‘How bravely they died.’
That got a nod, but not one that seemed to acknowledge the sacrifice. ‘When do you think you will depart to join her, for you will have no reason to remain in Dorostorum?’
There was something about the way that was posed, as if it was only of passing importance, that set Flavius even more on edge, the deliberate lack of emphasis added to the lacklustre look in eyes that were now fixed on a spot just above his head, implying not indifference but calculation.
Revelation came without any need to examine from where it emerged and nor did Flavius question the certainty of his conclusion. There had been less than clear hints from those who had earlier come to offer condolences regarding what had happened on the day of battle that, if they had made him curious, had not coalesced into any firm view.
Now they did: either Blastos or Senuthius had somehow got wind there was an official mission on the way from Constantinople. For men who relied on distance from real authority, aided by a wilfully blind provincial administrator, to hide from view their transgressions, such a visitation could not be other than a threat, especially when the man who had sought to have them examined for their crimes was present to not only back them up, but to do so with witnesses. Fear of Senuthius would evaporate in the face of a body representing the emperor.
The memory of those two thieves came to mind, men whose bodies had disappeared in the hours of darkness, no one knowing who had removed them or where they had been taken. Were they just casual robbers taking advantage of the empty villa to seek to rob the place of valuables? Or had they been sent to the house knowing that it would be empty?
Once that thought had taken hold there was no need to wonder why the imperial cohort had been left unsupported. Senuthius had taken a golden opportunity to rid himself of a long-time adversary who might well have found the means to be his nemesis. Such contemplation made it hard to keep going, but Flavius knew he must reply, it being even more vital now that he do so in the same manner and tone that he had struggled hard to maintain. He must give no hint of his thinking!
‘There are matters to clear up here and it will not surprise you that is a task for which I am, at my age, unprepared.’
‘Of course, I merely wondered if you might wish to join your dear mother quickly and persuade her that such a journey is unnecessary. The travelling is arduous enough, ten times more so bearing such a burden.’
‘That is a decision I must leave to her.’
‘Young as you are, Flavius, you now stand at the head of your house. Perhaps it is a duty you should assume and act to spare your dear mother any more unhappiness. I would tell her to remain where she is and draw comfort from your presence. I feel I must, as spiritual adviser to you both, strongly counsel that such a course is the one you should adopt.’
They want her and me out of the way! Why? In case my father confided in us? His mother probably knew, for they were very close, a fact of which Blastos, having observed them from the advantage of his office, could not but be aware. He is also uncertain about me; much safer that neither she nor I are still in Dorostorum when …
‘Nevertheless,’ Flavius insisted, ‘you know my mother well enough to be aware that even with the unwanted elevation of myself to which you have referred, she will do as she wishes and not what I tell her.’
‘A pity,’ Gregory Blastos responded, in a sour tone. Then, taking a deep and what was intended to be a meaningful breath, he turned suddenly brisk. ‘Now, a second duty intrudes and we have other
matters to discuss. It devolves upon me, on behalf of the magister Conatus, to oversee some of the duties undertaken by your late father until a replacement arrives.’
Was that true? When it came to defence, untrustworthy as he was and without any official position, Senuthius seemed a more fitting candidate, added to which the bishop would not make such a claim without his consent. The whys and wherefores of what arrangement they had come to would remain a mystery so there was little point in dwelling upon it, though Flavius could not avoid letting loose a pointed dart.
‘Even if you are not a soldier?’
‘I am assured I will not want for support in that area,’ came the testy reply. ‘What it means, of course, is that I am required to take into my possession the treasury your father held on behalf of the empire as well as any correspondence in which he might have been engaged.’
Correspondence! The time had come to prevaricate, to say the great coffer that held such things was bolted to the floor of the room Decimus Belisarius had set aside as his place of work, with the addendum that anything pertaining to his family he had to retain, given his father’s personal papers had been kept within the same chest and – the lie came easily – he had yet to go through them anything like methodically. He held his breath till he was sure that Blastos had swallowed the falsehood.
‘Of course, and I am happy to allow you to separate anything private but I must insist you do so in my presence, for it may be that you will not know one from the other.’
‘Perhaps in a day or two, Your Eminence, when my grief has receded somewhat.’
The fleshy hands spread once more, as if in an expression of deep regret. ‘Alas, that cannot be. I must act with haste for the sake of such responsibilities, even if I find it uncomfortable. I have a party of men without the atrium gate waiting for me to take possession of anything deemed official.’
‘You wish to go through it now?’ Flavius asked, affecting genuine surprise.
‘If I had a choice …’ That lie was left unfinished.
‘One more day, perhaps?’
‘Sadly no, my duty is clear and I doubt the magister militum, once I have informed him of my actions, would thank me for delay.’
There was silence as each examined the other, Flavius sure that, just as he was trying to disguise his true feelings, Blastos was doing likewise: if Senuthius was threatened by any hint of an imperial enquiry then so was the Bishop of Dorostorum for, though their sins were of a different nature, they acted in concert.
Having read the last letter from Justinus more than once, he knew that Constantinople had gone to great lengths to keep secret what was to be visited upon this border city, hence the decision not to inform anyone in Marcianopolis. Flavius could plead but it would be to no avail, so with obvious reluctance he stood to one side and indicated the open doorway, still guarded by Ohannes.
‘Then I have no choice.’
Blastos smiled and the lips were shiny again as his hand went once more to that heavy cross on his chest, as he sought a pious excuse for his behaviour. ‘Sometimes a man is forced to act against his better instincts. I hope you believe that I am obliged to do so now.’
CHAPTER SIX
If the request for access to the chest had been put with a contrived air of regret the perusal and removal of its contents was carried out in a very different manner. Blastos, even if he could not miss them, made no remark regarding the deep, fresh cuts around the lock, in itself an act that underlined the suspicions of the new head of the household. The bishop merely stood to one side as Flavius opened it, before relieving him of the keys.
He had each despatch – those received and copies of those sent over the years – brought to the desk, set by a south-facing window, to be brusquely examined. Some, probably complaints regarding his own behaviour as well as that of Senuthius, made the bishop suck on his teeth, even if the contents could be no mystery.
They were then cast, like the rest, into one of the small canvas sacks fetched for the purpose of removal, and once filled, taken out by one of the quartet of servants the bishop had fetched along, he presumed to whatever conveyance Blastos had used in coming here.
Flavius was gratified to see they were his church servants and unmilitary, not those who formed the bishop’s armed bodyguard whenever he travelled to the limits of his diocese, necessary given how few of his flock agreed with his stance on dogma. He was consulted regarding anything pertaining to the family: deeds of possession for properties purchased as well as a ledger containing a list of domestic accounts; in addition there were two sacks of coins that amounted to a limited spendable inheritance.
Those objects over which he had so recently grieved were put to one side for Flavius to do with what he wished before Blastos turned to the ledger that related to the centurion’s duties and obligations. Likewise, this had a list going back years, of payments and credits. Blastos, after a quick glance and yet more sucking of teeth, tucked that inside his own tunic, the leather bag containing the residue of the imperial funds – a small sum of money indeed – staying by his side.
Increasing frustration was clear to an acutely sensitive observer: much as the bishop tried to disguise it, Blastos was looking for something and not finding that which he sought and it was far from hard to guess what that something must be. Once the chest had been emptied Blastos went to kneel before it, leaning in to tap the sides and the base, even the arched lid, as if in search of some secret compartment, before finally getting back to his feet and looking the youngster right in the eye.
‘Are you sure you have not been through the contents of this chest?’
‘A glance, no more,’ Flavius replied, for to say no would create, not dissipate suspicion. ‘To find my father’s testament.’
‘And where is that now?’
‘In my chamber.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘No.’
‘You are sure?’
‘Certain!’
The cross was in his hand again, this time held out from his chest and aimed at those blackened eyes, the tone of his voice a rumble from deep within his frame. ‘It pains me to remind you that a lie given to me is as blasphemous as one given to God himself.’
That could not be anything but uncomfortable, Flavius being acutely aware of what he had inside his sling. Not only an official despatch but the name of who would lead it, an F. Petrus Sabbatius, as well as when it was intended they should set out from Constantinople. That being a date already past, it could be close to arrival if not actually imminent, something that depended on the eagerness of those tasked to carry out such enquiries.
‘Are there any other places where your father kept papers?’
The way the clerical eyes ran over him, top to bottom, sent a shiver through the youngster; it was as if he was hinting at a personal search, not only of his bedroom but of himself too. Inspiration had him turn to Ohannes, standing by the doorway. He approached the old soldier, seeking by the look in his eye to alert him to what he intended, for he could not chance his voice lest it betray him. Coming close he put his good hand on the older man’s shoulder, while slipping his weak arm just enough out of the sling to show the end of the oilskin pouch.
‘This fellow served as domesticus to my father. Perhaps he knows.’
To get the pouch out of his sling unseen was a risk Flavius felt he had to take. Ohannes must know, given how he acted as the centurion’s body servant and was with him as he carried out his duties, that everything being requested was in this very room, the place from which his master had discharged his duties and one to which, when he set out to face the barbarians, he fully expected to return.
The youngster was holding his breath, released when he discovered he had a shrewd fellow conspirator who, if he was not sure what was going on could, at the sight of the edge of that pouch, make a guess. In an act of pure theatricality, designed to cause a distraction and take the clerical eye off the exchange, the old man tapped his forehead with a pointed digit,
as if he was a numbskull, this as his other hand took what he was being given.
‘Master would not have trusted me, young sir, for I am unlettered. He kept his private matters close. Only person who might know is your mama, to whom he was given to share his concerns.’
Spinning round Flavius used his body to mask the Scythian, giving him time to conceal the object in his own smock. He found himself looking into the face of a worried cleric, suddenly contemplating that what he sought might be a hundred leagues away. Then Blastos shook his head, implying that if such a scenario made no sense to him, he was at a loss to know what to do about it. If, as Flavius now supposed, his father’s enemies had found out there was a commission of enquiry on the way, they were obviously in the dark about the make-up of the members as well as when it might arrive.
The sooner it came the more dangerous it would be to both. With time, having disposed of their chief accuser they could, through bribes and threats, so muddy the waters that no one would dare to witness against them and that would mean no allegations could be proved. An even more disturbing thought occurred: they might try to shift any blame for what would appear to be a false set of grievances onto the complainant.
‘There has to be another place your father kept papers,’ Blastos insisted, his expression no longer calm, for the first time overtly flustered, so much so that he was required to be more open. ‘I happen to know that he had a certain amount of correspondence with the imperial capital recently on an important matter.’
‘What kind of correspondence?’
Flavius made this enquiry with his brow furrowed, not sure that, if he was taking a spiteful pleasure from the clerical discomfort, he should be. Whatever, it made Blastos even more uncomfortable and forced him into a hurried and unconvincing excuse.
‘It relates to certain matters we discussed in the sanctity of the confessional, which leaves me unable to tell even you. But I know of their existence as well as of their significance, which leads me to insist that they must be kept in another place.’
