by Jack Ludlow
‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘You must be discreet,’ Petrus cut in, ‘and never use your family name while within these walls.’
‘You mentioned a Vicinus?’ Flavius asked Justinus.
Again it was Petrus who replied, bringing home that Justinus really did rely on him. The situation was explained in full, as well as the reasoning that would prompt Pentheus Vicinus to have him killed; he did not add that the mere presence of Flavius threatened him and his uncle as well.
‘Sleep now,’ Justinus said, yawning himself. ‘We will talk more in the morning.’
‘Where, Uncle?’
‘My barren cell and my cot, Petrus, where he will be safe.’
‘And you?’
That got a firm shake of the older head; he was not going to say that as long as Flavius was safe, so was he, which impressed a nephew who got the drift; he had worried that Justinus had not thought matters through.
As he was accommodated in the same suite that served Justinus, Petrus had no distance to walk to his sleeping chamber, not that he went there to rest for he needed to think. Was it worth seeking the help of the emperor and trying to persuade him to rid himself of Pentheus? Not with Vitalian queering the field and the man in question the originator of what Anastasius saw as a successful if dishonest policy! Just as the senator had picked up hints of the correspondence between Decimus and Justinus, Petrus had picked up hints about what was to be done about the rebels and Vitalian.
As a person who walked the corridors of the palace when no other duty presented itself, and his uncle was no hard taskmaster, Petrus enjoyed the little surprises this turned up. Often he would hear part of a discreet conversation, at other times come across courtiers in deep discussion, sometimes encountering people in conclave who in public gave the impression of being mortal enemies. It was a game he played and loved, just as he judiciously sought to make connections with anyone that he thought could further his aims.
Naturally he was close to his uncle’s officers, but they were not the only troops in the capital and he never doubted that being able to tell those commanders and their inferiors outside the magic circle of intrigue that was the palace, what was being said, proposed and indeed about to be enacted made him, if not a friend, a warmly welcomed visitor. Knowledge was power and Petrus garnered it like a fish ingesting feed.
He had suspected from the day they were promulgated that the arrangements Anastasius made with Vitalian were false; the emperor might be old and increasingly feeble but he had a core of hard metal that had kept him on the throne and it was one that brooked no opposition. He had made concessions to Vitalian to get him away from the walls of Constantinople, a city that might erupt into serious riot in his support if food got scarce; indeed the populace was so febrile they might decide they were fed up with their present ruler and seek to depose him out of nothing but mischief, which had happened before.
Petrus knew he had to come up with a solution to the presence of the Belisarius boy and one that did not compromise his uncle’s sense of honour. Added to that he had to deflect Pentheus Vicinus, who must have a full knowledge of what he, Petrus, had only picked up by rumour: that an army from Asia Minor, under the command of the imperial nephew, Hypatius, was about to land on the shores of the Euxine Sea, to then march inland and destroy Vitalian.
As he sat fiddling with the bones with which he liked to gamble he began to evolve a scheme, one full of risks, but less fraught than the potentially fatal one of doing nothing. Then he again considered if he should tell Justinus of what he intended, that discarded quickly in case, by word or deed, he let slip what Petrus was about.
The next morning, secretarial tasks complete, he sent a message to Pentheus Vicinus seeking a meeting, to discuss certain matters of mutual concern – there could only be one given those flaming-red letters on the walls – knowing the senator would have to take the bait, then he went to talk with Flavius Belisarius, which he too needed to do alone, not easy since Justinus seemed to want to hold him close. Finally duty called his uncle away and Petrus made sure, in a very obvious way, that the chamber, as well as the adjoining rooms, were clear of servants.
‘Please sit, Flavius.’
Petrus sensed he was reluctant; for some reason the youngster did not fully trust him, that not being a fact to trouble him.
‘I need to talk to you on an important matter,’ he added and Flavius finally obliged. ‘I am going to say to you that it is necessary to act upon what I am going to tell you as if my uncle has no knowledge of it, even if he has.’
That made the listener shift somewhat uncomfortably.
‘I doubt you can fathom the level of discretion that is required to hold any position in the imperial service when you are so very close to the source of that power.’
‘Your uncle mentioned it was full of what he called “currents” …’
‘And greedy sharks to gobble you up if you do not show care!’ Petrus exclaimed. ‘I hope you believe he trusts me.’
‘I suspect it was you who wrote his replies to my father.’
‘I even wrote the terms of my own commission, to avoid using the imperial scribes, yet somehow we could not keep matters as secure as we had hoped. You are bound to ask why and I cannot tell you, but Pentheus Vicinus picked up something, perhaps a sniff no more, but it would have been enough perhaps to send to Senuthius a warning. That is what it is like in this place.’
‘I am surprised an honourable man like Justinus can bear it.’
‘He does so with my aid. I am his eyes, ears and correspondent in all things, for he cannot himself read, or write. It is I who compose his orders and relate to him that which comes in writing. I want to add that apart from my very natural affection for him, distant from any ties of blood, I am wedded to him by interest in my own advancement. Without Justinus I would not be here and would not have the opportunity to seek for myself a place to occupy when he is no longer with us.’
Petrus paused to let that sink in, his gut feeling being that love as a motive would not wash; self-interest was so much more convincing and his uncle was long in years.
‘What I am about to tell you he knows the gist of, but his position of loyalty to the emperor precludes it passing his lips, so it falls to me to be the executor of his wishes. Your recent commander, Vitalian, was fed a pack of lies, or at least his senior commanders were and I will now explain what they were and why.’
Flavius listened as it was related to him; Anastasius was never going to relent of his Monophysite edict, never going to honour his commitment to keep the foederati fed and paid. No Chalcedonian bishops would be reinstated and more would be removed. The real shock he kept till last: that the architect of that policy of imperial deceit was none other than the cousin of Senuthius Vicinus.
‘And that is the way matters are conducted here in the bosom of our empire. Lastly, as of this moment, an army is about to land in the Diocese of Thrace to crush Vitalian, which presents you with a problem.’
‘How so?’ That got a shrug. ‘If Vitalian is defeated, it may clear the way for my uncle to get reconvened my mission to Dorostorum.’ A shrug full of negativity followed that. ‘But how will we manage that when Pentheus Vicinus is entrenched as the most powerful voice in the councils of empire?’
‘A problem certainly.’
‘How much loyalty, Flavius, do you harbour towards those you marched with? Do you feel it is incumbent on you, with this information in your possession, to alert them to the danger?’
Sensing the confusion that induced, he stayed silent, letting Flavius gnaw on the matter himself.
‘Will the crushing of Vitalian guarantee that your mission will take place?’ Petrus demanded, only to answer his own question. ‘No, and oddly the only person who might guarantee that is Vitalian, for if he can so pressure Anastasius that he will have to deal with him honestly, it will destroy forever any influence Pentheus has.’
‘Which will expose Senuthius?’
‘Of course!’ Petrus exclaimed, happy not to have to explain everything. ‘Then my uncle will not have any reason to hold back or anyone to stand in his way in a matter he feels honour-bound to resolve for an old comrade-in-arms, namely to provide that which you painted on the walls.’
‘Justice for Belisarius,’ Flavius murmured, for it had become to him a mantra.
‘Think on what I have said, for circumstances have put you in a position of real importance, not just to your own wishes but to the future course of the empire.’
Petrus was pleased to see the face before him pale slightly as the enormity of what this young man was faced with struck home. Time to fix in place the final nail!
‘But under no circumstances talk to Justinus about this. You have seen the precautions I took so that you and I would not be overheard. This I can do because I am familiar with the place, you are not. Think of the fate of your family and how that came about. If you are overheard discussing this you will so compromise my uncle that he too may lose his head. If that happens, any hope you have for justice will die with him.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
It was necessary to leave Flavius be, to allow him to think on what had been imparted to him: another reason was to see if he reported the conversation to Justinus, that being a vital test without which nothing could proceed. Besides, Petrus had an appointment to meet with Pentheus Vicinus at his villa in the north-western suburb of Blachernae, home to many a rich individual and well away from the stink at the heart of the city.
By taking a hired palanquin from a public square and not taking a horse – never an animal he was very comfortable on in any case – from the excubitor stables, he could avoid his journey being reported.
The house was substantial, the gardens large, well tended and watered and deeply green even now, in late summer, when all about the ground for miles around was brown and dusty. A coin was disbursed to keep his bearers waiting, while under the cushion on which he had sat, Petrus had secreted a note saying who he was, whom he had visited and why; he was about to sup with the devil so needed a long spoon.
The man did not look like Lucifer; he had a smooth, round face and sparse white hair over a plump rather than fat body. When he walked there was a slight forward stoop as if he was ever in anticipation of something, but Petrus knew that underneath that avuncular exterior was a mind as sharp as his own − perhaps, and this was a worry, even sharper.
‘I cannot but admire your gardens, Senator. Would it be permissible to walk in them while we talk?’
That got a thin smile; Pentheus was not fooled, he knew his visitor wanted to converse without any chance of their conversation being witnessed. He called for a servant to fetch a large parasol and, under that protection from the hot sun, they proceeded to saunter around the well-defined paths through a variety of exotic shrubs and much Greek statuary.
‘It is good of you to see me.’
‘How could I not do so, Flavius Petrus, since my curiosity is acute about what you might have to talk to me about?’
The response was blunt, intended to shock, which was achieved. ‘Belisarius!’
Pentheus stopped abruptly and looked at him, his face contorting even if he tried to control it, then he attempted to prevaricate. ‘Is it a name with which I should be familiar?’
‘If you wish to deny all knowledge of it, I can leave now.’
In plotting how he would deal with this, Petrus had reasoned he must gain and hold control of the conversation, hence the need to be abrupt. He had no time for endless and banal circumlocution and his brusque approach paid off handsomely.
‘And if I say it is known to me …’
‘Then you might ask if finding it painted on a wall and with a demand for justice, there is anything more that you should concern yourself with.’
‘The walls can be cleaned.’
‘It was the slate I was thinking of, Senator. We received a despatch from Dorostorum not long past telling us that a centurion of that name, along with his entire family, had perished in a Hunnish raid.’
‘Yes.’
‘The information imparted to you was, I suggest, somewhat different.’ No reply. ‘Which means I am obliged to tell you of the identity of the person doing the daubing, though I half suspect you know it already.’
He might as well have said Flavius Belisarius, but it was more pleasurable this way.
‘This person.’ The question came with a vague wave of the senator’s free hand; he was fishing when he should have been talking. ‘Am I to act as if he is of some account?’
‘It might be as well to treat him so. My Uncle Justinus is an old comrade of Decimus Belisarius, who died in that raid. Friends from youth who enlisted in the army at the same time.’
There were several slow nods before an admission, as he sought reasons why he was being told a fact that, for the sake of the Count of the Excubitor, would have been better not stated.
‘I did not know that.’
‘Unfortunately he chose to become involved in the affairs of this old friend, which led to certain matters being discussed in private with the emperor.’
Pentheus was good and if he briefly lost his composure it was back in full potency once he had digested the ramifications; Petrus had just given him the answer to something he must have puzzled over but there was no sign of it affecting him at all, which told his visitor what he had suspected. The senator had lacked precise knowledge of what was going on and had acted on a vague suspicion or gossip; it would be nice to know how much of each but that was unnecessary.
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘If I was to tell you I did not approve of his actions?’
‘Yet you must have been party to them, I know your uncle cannot read and write.’ Realising he might have said too much, given away a source, Pentheus added, ‘I assume that is how they communicated.’
‘Of course, and I wrote them.’
‘So have you come to tell me what they contain?’
‘Why, when you can guess? Belisarius threatened to cause your cousin a certain amount of trouble. If you are not privy to the details of what my uncle was engaged in then the gist will do.’
The senator tried to maintain an air of detachment and he rarely let his guard drop as Petrus listed some of the charges levelled against Senuthius, all of which his listener knew since Decimus had written many times to the imperial court to complain of them, only to have them rubbished by the senator and his allies.
‘I am curious, Flavius Petrus, what this is all leading up to.’
‘If I was to say, Senator, that I am wholly dependent on my Uncle Justinus, who is not in the first flush of spring youth …’
There was no need to finish, for that made Pentheus nod, if not vigorously, then emphatically enough to say he understood. He knew that the male Sabbatius parent was so addled with drink as to be of no use to an ambitious son, and nor did he seem to harbour any doubt that Petrus was afflicted with a desire for, at sometime in the future, personal power of his own.
‘And the Belisarius boy, given it is to him I assume you are referring.’
‘My uncle wants to send him north in an official capacity. It seems your cousin paid a large sum in gold to the Huns, in order that they would raid over the Danube and threaten Dorostorum.’
‘Surely a lie!’
‘That is to be established, Senator, but given his past actions …’ There was again no need to finish that sentence. ‘During the raid he was in command of the militia, but stood off and allowed the imperial cohort to be massacred and the Huns to depart without much in the way of loss. That is treason, not theft, and I think would be a hard accusation to refute, indeed it would be one that must lead to an enquiry, which if ordered by the emperor cannot be stopped. And if it turned out to have a basis in fact … well?’
Petrus was willing him to think it through; even if it does not destroy you, he thought, you will be impoverished. No more bribes handed out, no more of your
fellow senators courting you and hanging on your every word, everything you value taken away including this villa and the very gardens in which we now walk. You are angling to be made consul again, I suspect, and you can kiss goodbye to that as well, for no blood relative of a traitor will have a hope.
‘I cannot believe it to be true.’
‘It does beggar belief, I agree,’ came the seemingly sympathetic reply.
That was like a nail in his breast and Pentheus came close to wincing; Petrus believed all right, in fact he knew it to be true!
‘This mission you say the Belisarius brat is set upon?’
‘Has already been set in motion.’
‘Gone already?’ Pentheus demanded, for once showing real emotion, for if Belisarius was on his way, the conclusions he had come to about the motives of this visitor were wrong.
‘No, but he will depart soon.’
‘How?’ came the reply, the senator reassured, though only up to a point; he was still mistrustful.
‘He will go by the Via Gemina, I assume,’ Petrus replied, with seeming indifference. ‘Then by Marcianopolis.’
‘But not to Dorostorum?’
‘That would be unwise, don’t you think? He had contact with the Sklaveni and it was they who told him of your cousin’s arrangement with the Huns. He will seek to persuade them to witness against him.’
‘Are we now believing the lies of barbarians?’
‘It will be enough to set hares running that would be better staying in their burrow.’
A slow nod. ‘In what capacity will the boy travel?’
‘On horseback and alone; my uncle has got for him the promise of a written commission.’
It was again instructive to watch the senator’s face, even in its immobility; such a document could only come from Anastasius. That he believed the emperor to be so devious as to keep him in the dark came as no surprise, nor should it.
‘Which you will compose?’
‘Of course, Senator.’
The best bargains are struck without the parties having to enter the details; Petrus was telling him he would be given a copy of that commission as well as the other information he would need. With clever men, so much does not have to be said and that was the case now, the only thing left the words Pentheus spoke.
