by Jack Ludlow
He knew just where to enquire: every via publica had, at five-league intervals, government funded mansios, places of accommodation reserved for non-military officials or imperial messengers. If they were sparsely spread, at least for anyone on foot, and not open to all and sundry – to get in required official endorsement stating your name and business – the first villa they encountered was fortuitously close to the point at which they had joined the highway.
Flavius quizzed the watchmen at the gates, asking for news regarding any substantial official body that had come north recently and used the accommodation, or merely stopped to refresh themselves, change mounts and eat. With no need for discretion he was able to describe what that of which he was seeking news might look like: a number of court officials perhaps, of high calibre and bearing and most certainly a priest, travelling in some style.
Slipping the man at the gate a copper coin, not that it produced anything positive, eased the habitual reserve of all watchmen; no body fitting the description Flavius gave had passed this way in recent times and further gentle interrogation produced nothing that might even remotely point to that which he sought, while the name F. Petrus Sabbatius was met with a shrug.
Carrying on he tried the public houses in which a common traveller could get sustenance and even a bed, now crowded out with the men sharing the route – raucous and uninviting places to Flavius, but entered to make the same enquiry and met every time with universal and blank incomprehension. The owners made their living by selling food and wine, an excess of the latter, judging by the sounds of singing coming through the open doorways of every one they approached, what words that could be understood far from spiritual in their composition and rendition.
‘No point in getting distressed by it, is there,’ Ohannes opined, as they passed another crowded establishment where lyrics being sung were particularly blasphemous. ‘It’s as I said to you prior, not all who are on this road with us are assembling for God’s purpose.’
‘Neither are all of we,’ growled Dardanies.
If the majority aiming to join Vitalian were farmers or labourers, such volunteers were leavened by a small number of men bearing proper arms, who by their bearing and swagger, as well as their easy camaraderie, gave the impression of being ex-soldiers. Ohannes, who sought to see from various bits of their apparel where they might have served, sized them up quickly and approvingly.
‘Stuck for a crust after the end of the Persian War, many were, and took to serving the wealthy as watchmen. Now they are happy to up sticks and come to join the uprising. Once you have soldiered proper it’s in your blood.’
Such admiration did not extend to more numerous armed individuals, men who had taken up positions of employment in which guarding property required that they possess swords, spears or both. Ohannes would manoeuvre close enough to get to talk to them too, happy to report back that first impressions were accurate: they would struggle to make true soldiers.
‘Might be fit to stand guard over a farm, but not up to a real fight.’
‘And all from north of where we now are. I should be home now, given it would be a good time to pillage, with so much protection missing.’
Flavius looked at Dardanies as he said this, realising he was jesting, albeit the comment had within it a strong element of truth. What might happen on the Danube border now, especially now; following on from the massacre of the imperial cohort, there was no organised force to oppose raiding and no support could be expected from Vitalian’s army, now wholly intent on another objective.
‘Serve them right,’ was his sharp opinion, when he outlined the risks to the citizenry of Dorostorum. ‘They should have held to their bond.’
‘Trouble is, Master Flavius,’ Ohannes responded, ‘it is not the guilty who will pay.’
Dardanies cut across what looked about to become a lament. ‘If I have not said it before, Ohannes, I say it now. It is time to drop the tag of master and start addressing our young friend as Flavius. You put him at risk every time you address him so.’
‘Habit,’ the Scythian replied, in a grumpy tone.
‘A bad one can get you killed.’
‘What will do for me is all this marching,’ the old man said, rubbing at his shoulders, then easing his knees. ‘Every bone I possess aches.’
Flavius laid a concerned hand on the man’s back, his voice carrying the same tone. ‘Then, since we are under no one’s command, let us rest awhile.’
Leaving the road was not immediate; they waited until they spied a fallen tree trunk big enough to use as a communal seat, Ohannes being strong in his belief that if he was to sit on the ground they would struggle to raise him up again. Before they ate some of their provisions the old man disappeared into the woods at their rear to relieve himself, leaving Dardanies and Flavius alone.
‘You are fond of him, are you not?’
‘As was my father, and he saved my life, so why would I not be?’
‘Odd that,’ Dardanies smiled, ‘he told me you saved his.’
‘He exaggerates, I acted by instinct and if it aided him it was by chance.’
‘I have observed you are much given to modesty.’
‘Honesty is the word I would prefer.’
The return of Ohannes did for that conversation and after he joined them the three sat eating, which curtailed much in the way of talking, this as a stream of men passed them by, few with any interest. On a hot day and feeling far enough away from recognition Flavius fretted at still wearing the cowl, which he eased back as much as he dared, while tending to gaze at the ground before his feet, constantly checking himself for that which he could not help, looking up as some fellow on the road called out to another.
To say Flavius was troubled was well off the mark, for he had a whole cart of worries, and not just his present preoccupations. Would his mother, once she received the news of the death of her husband and sons, do as he had asked and await his arrival, or would she rush back to the family home? He felt the need to prevent her, given the strong possibility her welcome and treatment wouldn’t be any different from that envisaged for him, though Senuthius would need to be careful how he treated her.
If his father had been less than wholly popular through the needs of his responsibilities, she had been the reverse and was held, particularly by the poor of the city, in high regard, due to her selfless consideration for their welfare. To accuse her of sorcery would surely not be believed by folk whose illnesses she had medicated and whose poverty she had worked tirelessly to relieve.
That thought checked him; who would believe that anyone in his household had indulged in pagan rites? No one with eyes to see or a brain to think, but a mob fired up by lies and fed with free wine was of a different nature. Senuthius would expend gold to damn anyone named Belisarius, and Blastos would use his office to aid him!
If that was not an immediate dilemma, it would become that once they reached Marcianopolis, where there was another via publica that joined that city to the main road west, the Via Egnatia, which would take him to Illyricum and in doing so impose a choice. What would his mother want him to do, seek out the imperial commission and go with them to Dorostorum or look to her security? He was looking at his own feet once more, thinking that she would insist on the former, when another pair appeared.
‘Can you spare a bite, friends?’
To avoid looking up was impossible. The man before them, with a spear in his hand, a sword at his waist and a plain leather breastplate on his chest, was clearly a one-time soldier, covered in dust, as were the trio he was addressing. With the butt of the spear shaft resting on the ground he was leaning on it in a way that indicated he was as weary as Ohannes, who was the one who replied.
‘Been on the march long, brother?’
There was a pause, as if he found the question obtrusive. ‘All the way from Axiupolis.’
It seemed the name of that city made no sense to Dardanies, but Flavius knew it lay well to the east of Dorostorum, it being
the nearest fortified town in that direction, as would Ohannes. Many times his father had gone there to confer with his opposite and equally under-strength counterpart and mull over their difficulties.
‘That’s many a league,’ Flavius replied.
‘And many more to go, I think.’
‘Not as many as you have behind you, friend; Marcianopolis will be not much more than another day’s march.’
Flavius was wondering why Ohannes was growling, but he was in no position to enquire as the fellow spoke again, the expression implying he was impressed. ‘You know the road well?’
‘Well enough,’ Flavius responded. He looked around, to the sound of the old man growling even louder. ‘Are you on your own?’
‘I was with a party, but I seem to have got separated.’ He smiled, showing broken teeth. ‘Too much time spent talking to others on the path to salvation, but I can catch up with them if I have the strength to put my best foot forward.’
‘Have some bread and wine, then,’ Dardanies said.
He held out a torn piece of his own round of bread. Ohannes immediately proffered his wine flask and the man drank from it with the requisite constraint, not consuming too much. Still chewing he wiped his sleeve across his face before speaking again.
‘Why, that is kind of you, I feel right restored.’
‘Glad to provide for a fellow Christian.’
‘And where have you come from?’
Flavius was about to reply when Ohannes spoke to cut him off. ‘What matters where we all hail from, friend? It is the cause in which we make our way that matters.’
‘True enough, brother, true enough.’ A hand went to the soft cap on his head in a sort of salute. ‘Well, I say God’s blessings upon you and I will be heading on – with luck and your kindly sustenance I will come upon my comrades.’
‘You should not have spoken so freely,’ Ohannes hissed, as soon as the man was out of earshot. ‘And happen you should not have spoken at all!’
‘In what way do you mean?’
‘What lad your age, and at best a labourer, speaks educated as you do, has knowledge of the roads of the province, as well as how far it is to Axiupolis and can tell how far we still have to go to the general’s meeting place?’
‘Any number of folk know that, and you must have gone there with my father!’
‘I take leave to say they do not,’ the old man insisted, before addressing Dardanies, sat on the other side of Flavius. ‘You heard of Axiupolis?’
That got a shake of the head and a shrugged reply from the Sklaveni. ‘What’s done is done. Can you be certain talking to that fellow is a risk of any sort?’
‘Likely not,’ Ohannes replied, though he seemed far from mollified. ‘But best not to take a chance, best to keep a tight lip.’
‘You worry too much,’ Flavius murmured, his resentment at being checked obvious.
‘Thank the Lord someone has the sense to!’
As they had sat eating the air had grown heavy, as clouds rolled in from the north-west to first cover the sun, trapping the summer heat, then to thicken and darken, which was enough to let all know they were in for a downpour, and soon the first roll of thunder came rumbling to their ears and that meant lightning. With every post house full to bursting and likely to get even busier there was scant chance of shelter.
If it was known to be unsafe to shelter under a tree in such circumstances there was mutual agreement that it was better than standing out in the open and being lashed with rain. The clouds were turning black now and the thunder was regular, soon followed by the first visible flash of lightning cracking brightly across the sky.
‘Oh, for a shield,’ Ohannes called, ‘best thing going to keep your head dry.’
‘I have heard men being struck on the boss by lightning and killed,’ Flavius said, as the first drops of rain began to fall, large enough to bounce off the paving blocks from which the road was constructed.
‘Who’s to say it would not have done for them anyway.’
Dardanies had his sword out and was heading for the trees. ‘Time to build a shelter.’
Once into the woods, he began to slash at the thinner branches of the trees, soon aided by the others, who knew what he was about, just as they knew they had left it late to act. It was not long before they had a frame of sorts as well as the evergreen foliage with which to cover it, under which they could take shelter even if they were damp by the time it was up.
They sat huddled within this as the rain beat down, much of it caught in the trees above, yet enough falling to drip through their canopy and all the while the heavens rumbled and spat. To peer out was to see bolts of heavenly fire striking the ground, while all around the noise of thunder assailed them and the wind the storm whipped up had those under cover grabbing parts of their makeshift shelter to keep it in place.
‘Those are my gods speaking,’ Dardanies said. ‘It might do you well to listen.’
‘Never did much take to anyone shouting, divine or otherwise,’ Ohannes hooted, ‘an’ who would want to bow their head to such a temper?’
Flavius thought it politic to say nothing, especially when he saw the way the Sklaveni took the old man’s jest; it was not well received. So there they sat in silence until the sounds began to fade as the storm moved on, the rain easing until it eventually stopped. They stepped out to find steam rising from the paving, water dripping from the trees and the air still heavy and damp, with grey clouds filling the sky.
Others, who had taken similar shelter, began to emerge and if they were to a man far from dry, neither were they too concerned; it was summertime in a part of the world where clothing could dry out quickly, the only concern Flavius expressed being that the delay made it unlikely they would make the military camp near Marcianopolis before darkness.
‘Though we should keep going as long as we can, even after dark.’
‘Not with all that cloud,’ Dardanies contended. ‘Won’t be able to see hand before our face when the light goes.’
All around them parties of men were settling down for the night, disappearing into the deeper woods looking for timber still dry enough to make a fire, kindling being no problem. Flints were being plied to the small mound of still-dry leaf mould that would be the first to flame, they carried on as the light faded and the road emptied.
‘Can’t go much further than this,’ Ohannes said, holding up a hand to show that it was barely visible. ‘Let’s make camp.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was not the dawn chorus of birds that woke Flavius, but the point of a knife at his throat, in a light so dim that he could not make out the face of the man holding it, even as he leant forward to whisper in his ear, telling him to stay still and say nothing. The threat that others would die in their sleep if he did not was enough to ensure silence. Two things registered: the smell of stale wine on the fellow’s breath and the fact that, having chosen to sleep quite a distance from his companions – really from the snoring of Ohannes – he had rendered himself vulnerable.
The free hand grabbed his smock and hauled him into a sitting position, before it was laid on his back to push, a signal to stand up, which he did, all the time with the cold steel pressing on his flesh. The cowl with which he had covered his head was used now as a drag to get him away from his companions, this as shadowy shapes now emerged from behind trees to surround him.
‘What do you want?’ he croaked.
‘You, Flavius Belisarius.’
It was still warm, even in the predawn, yet he felt a chill at the use of the name and that induced silence without the need to be told to maintain it. More hands were on him now, as if seeking part possession of his being as he was hustled deep into the woods, so deep that if the light was increasing it was barely doing so here.
‘Who are you?’ he asked eventually, trying a louder tone.
‘Can’t you guess?’ came the reply, likewise no longer a whisper, which was worrying for it established how far he was from any h
ope of rescue. ‘We were the fellows who tipped you off that horse of yours, and those two black eyes, even if they are near to faded now, were a sure sign to any with eyes to see. Not many youngsters on the road south, even fewer with such marks on their face, who can’t keep from looking up time to time.’
‘Couldn’t help showing away, either, could you?’ said another, more authoritative voice. ‘Telling me how far I had come and what was left to go in that high-born Latin of yours, as if one of your years and a rusticus would know of such things.’
‘You are in the employ of Vicinus?’
‘Were, but the smell of coin was stronger with Vitalian. Hankered to visit Constantinople again too, only this time to come away with something to show for it instead of an empty belly. No need now, the senator will pay handsome for you, and why bother to weary ourselves marching or fighting?’
The man reached out and detached the purse Flavius still wore on his belt, smiling as he tossed it and weighed it in his hand. ‘We even have a ready reward here, not much of one, I’ll grant, but it will pay our way in wine and food when we head back north.’
There was a moment when Flavius considered appealing to their Christian principles, only to put that aside. These would be men of a stripe that Ohannes had spoken of, ex-soldiers who had taken service with Senuthius because that was where they could employ their skills in a time of peace; they had set off to join General Vitalian with nothing but plunder in mind, so what came out was an expression of his desperation.
‘My friends will search for me.’
‘Only to find your body if they get too close, boy, for Senuthius would like you alive but he will take a corpse if that’s all we can provide. Now shut up and walk.’
Which they did for some time, and in silence, until they reached and began to cross a small clearing, providing light enough for Flavius to see that he had five men – they were no longer mere shadows – to contend with, not that he had any notion of how he was going to do that. They were armed, he was not, his sword and spear now lying where he had left them, beside the rough wood frame he had made so he could sleep off the still-damp ground.
