Flame of the West (4 page)

   “How many men
have you brought?” he snapped at John without exchanging greetings, his voice taut with anxiety.

  
John was used to more courteous treatment, and blinked before replying. “Ah…five thousand, sir,” he managed, “three thousand foot, and two thousand horse. I led the cavalry myself in a forced march across Campania after landing at Otranto…”

   Belisarius wasn’t interested. “Five thousand!” he yelled, throwing up his hands, “God and the Saints, that is nowhere near enough!
Why has the Emperor forsaken me? Have I not served him to the best of my ability? I gave him North Africa, I conquered Sicily without losing a single man, I have defended Rome against the worst that the barbarians can throw at me, and still he denies me the reinforcements I ask for!”

  
An embarrassed silence fell over the gathering of officers. Belisarius was beside himself, drawn and haggard and thinner than ever, his armour hanging awkwardly off his bony, meatless frame. What he said was almost, if not quite, treason, and there were many listening who might easily twist his words for their own ends.

   He must have been desperate to take such an appalling risk, quitting the safety of
Rome and riding through the Gothic lines with just a handful of guards. Perhaps he did so in the certain belief that Justinian had despatched a mighty army to save Rome. Grief and disappointment were etched on his face.

   Antonina broke the silence. “My lo
rd husband,” she said, “the Emperor must have sent every man he could find. There are rumours of plague in some of our provinces, and the imperial treasury is well-nigh exhausted.”

   He gave her an evil look, narrowing his eyes when he spotted Theodosius, but said nothing.
The general’s regard for his wife was well-known – indeed, it degraded him in the eyes of many – and even in his rage he would not rebuke or contradict her in public.

   “King Vitiges has sent three ambassadors to
Rome, asking for a truce,” he said, calming a little, “I have granted it. For the present, hostilities have ceased. Hence I was able to ride here tonight.”

   He turned to John. “I came to urge you to bring your supplies into the city with all speed, while the truce lasts. It must be done now. Tonight. The Goths cannot be trusted, and may betray us at any moment.”

  
John spread his hands. “Now, sir? But our oxen are exhausted, and in any case the only road available to us is narrow and in poor repair. Our wagons cannot travel along it safely at any great speed.”

   “You have a fleet, man,” Belisarius said impatiently, “use boats to transport the supplies.”

   “But they would have to be towed upriver, sir,” replied John, “the only road that follows the stream is on the northern bank, in the hands of the enemy.”

  
I should have known better than to intervene, but wanted to impress Belisarius, and remind him of my presence.

  
“We could use our sails,” I said, stepping forward, “and turn to oars when the wind drops.”

   John regarded me with disdain. “The Goths will be p
atrolling the northern bank. Regardless of the truce, do you think they will simply let us sail along the Tiber into Rome? Our crews would have to negotiate a hail of arrows.”

   An idea struck me. “Then protect the rowers with shields and wooden mantlets. The Goths have no vessels of their own, and can do nothing but shoot at us.
”

   The ghost of a smile appeared on Belisarius’ ravaged features. “I should make you a general,” he said, pointing at me, “perhaps I will yet.
”

   “I made the Briton a
centenar, sir,” said John, giving me an evil look, “a temporary command, of course.”

    Belisarius nodded. “I confirm the appointment,” he said, “with all my heart. If only all my officers were so dependable as Coel, and so loyal.”

   He called for a remount, and changed horses while I gently swelled with pride. I had never craved officer rank, particularly, but it was something to be rewarded for my efforts, and to know I still basked in the general’s favour.

   I glanced sidelong at Antonina, wondering at her thoughts. Her soft grey eyes briefly rested on me, and then flickered away, their secrets veiled.
Theodosius, I noticed, had taken a step back from her divan, and studiously avoided looking at her. That young man, I thought, would soon have to cause to regret stepping into the viper’s bed.

   Belisarius rode back to
Rome, leaving his officers to arrange the transport of the convoy. John wasted no time in rousing the men, ignoring their grumbling and swearing, and ordered them to load the smallest of our boats with provisions.

   I
was told to oversee the construction of wooden mantlets to protect the rowers.

  
“It was your idea,
general
,” John snarled at me, “and can be your responsibility. If none of our vessels make it to Rome, I will make sure part of the blame falls on your shoulders.”

   Once again I had succeeded in alienating an important
man. Procopius might have remarked again on my talent for making enemies among the rich and powerful, but he had returned to Rome with Belisarius.

   The river was narrow and winding,
and there was no wind. Our boats rowed through the darkness in single file. John placed me in the first boat, doubtless in the hope that a Gothic arrow would find its way into my gullet.

  
I stood beside the steersman, shivering in the chill night air and straining my eyes to look for signs of movement on the northern bank.

   “They cannot fail to spot us,” I muttered. Our vessels were lit by lanterns hanging from the mast-heads, to guard against losing their way in the dark.

   The object was not stealth, for there was no way of hiding our progress from the Goths, but speed. Rome had been starving when I left, the citizens forced to eat grass (and each other, if the rumours of what went on in the poorest districts were to be believed) and it was vital our supplies got through without delay.

  
Occasionally I glimpsed a light on the northern bank, and the dim shapes of horsemen. The Goths were tracking us, but no arrows came flying over the water. The truce was holding.

   I learn
ed later how desperate King Vitiges was for a peaceful settlement. Despite being vastly outnumbered, Belisarius had re-conquered much of Italy and defeated all efforts to prise him out of Rome. The Goths were also suffering from famine, for Belisarius sent out frequent raiding parties to disrupt their supply convoys.

  
With an artfulness that surprised me, he also spread false rumours of the size of the Roman reinforcements about to land in Italy. Had Vitiges known how pitifully few and overstretched the empire’s resources were, he might not have been so eager to come to terms.

   Even while our boats were rowing up the Tiber, the Gothic ambassadors were striving to persuade Belisarius to abandon the struggle for
Italy and accept a compromise. Procopius was present at the negotiations, and told me what passed between the Gothic spokesman and Belisarius.

   “My sovereign,” said the former, “is guided by the virtues of moderation and forbearance, and sincerely wishes to bring an end to the mutual miseries of this war.”
   He went on to describe the justice of the Gothic cause, and their legal right to possess the kingdom of Italy, citing dubious precedents from history. Belisarius scornfully denied them all, and then the Goth made this startling offer:
   “Though convinced that even our enemies must inwardly feel the truth of the arguments we have urged, yet we are willing to prove our peaceful intentions, by granting you Sicily, that fertile and extensive island, so convenient, by its position, for the maintenance of Africa.”

   Belisarius laughed at this –
he rarely had cause to laugh – and I like to think he had me in mind when he made his reply.

   “
Your generosity in yielding a province which you have already lost requires an adequate response. I will resign to the Goths the island of Britain, an island much larger than Sicily, and once part of the Empire. May you profit from her!”

  
The spokesman retreated, red-faced, to hammer out a new set of proposals with his colleagues. Back and forth the negotiations went, and they were still arguing when our fleet arrived safely in Rome.

   Our progress down the
Tiber had been swift and sure, and entirely without incident. Belisarius was overjoyed at the arrival of fresh supplies of corn and wine, and ordered the dormant mills and bake-houses to set to work again. He was careful to ensure there was enough bread for all, and sent soldiers into the streets to dole out rations to the starving populace.

   He summoned me into his presence, at his house near the Pincian Gate,
and confirmed my appointment as centenar.

   “You have distinguished yourself,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder, “as I trusted you would. Coel the Briton,
one-time champion of the racetrack, who fought loyally for the Empire and brought the supplies safely into Rome. Soon your fame will eclipse that of your grandfather.”

   I was surprised he remembered Arthur,
whose name was but a faint echo in this part of the world.

   “Some of our mercenaries from
Germania tell tales of him,” he explained, “though they seem to have got him confused with their own heroes. They recite sorts of tales of Arthur hunting a gigantic boar, fighting giants and riding monstrous fish to explore the depths of the ocean. Amusing nonsense, but I am interested in the truth behind it all. He was a great captain of horse, is that not so?”

  
I nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, sir. His Legion were the greatest horse-soldiers who ever lived. They smashed Britain’s enemies in twelve great battles, and held the land safe, without Rome’s aid, for over twenty years.”

  
“But Arthur was betrayed and killed in the end, yes? Leaving Britain without a protector.”

   “That is correct, sir,” I replied
sadly, “my mother and I fled the country in the aftermath of Camlann, where Arthur’s Legion was destroyed. I know nothing of the current state of Britain, whether it has been conquered by barbarian tribes, or split into dozens of warring kingdoms.” 

   Belisarius looked at me for a long moment. He was an expert at concealing his thoughts, and I could only wonder what he had in store for me. With the fate of
Italy rested on his creaking shoulders, he must have had good reason to prolong an interview with a nobody like myself.

   “
Britain has stood alone for too long,” he said at last, “it is time all the lost satellites of Rome were brought back into her orbit. We have taken back North Africa, and shall keep Italy, no matter what the Goths throw at us. If we can reconquer Italy, then why not Gaul, or even Britain?”

   I stared at him,
striving to read his expression. Was he serious? It was impossible. Belisarius had achieved extraordinary things, but to take back the whole of the Western Empire was a dream even Constantine the Great had not entertained. The Empire barely had enough soldiers to defend its own shrunken borders, and the expeditions to North Africa and Italy had been an astonishing gamble. Thanks to good fortune and the skill of Belisarius, the dice had landed in our favour.

   And yet…we had watered the soil of
Italy with the blood of thousands of Goths, and our own losses were trifling. If all the barbarian nations of the West came against Belisarius, united in arms, I would have given him an even chance of victory.

   “Trust in me, Coel,” he said with an encouraging smile, “there is no limit to what can be achieved. God has granted us one vict
ory after another. Your homeland may yet be saved.”

   He said no more, and I left his presence in a daze, striving to make sense of this unexpected glimpse into the general’s
secret character.

  
I had never credited him with any ambition beyond carrying out the orders of his master in Constantinople. He might have made himself King of Africa after defeating the Vandals, but declined the opportunity and hurried home to assure Justinian of his loyalty.

  
Your homeland may yet be saved.
These words replayed, over and over again, in my mind that night. I could not sleep, and in the small hours of the morning cursed Belisarius for his vagaries. What had he meant? He was not a man to waste words, or honey them with lies.

   Or so I thought.

5
.

Belisarius was soon active again. He sent John the Sanguinary away from Rome, despatching him north-east with two thousand cavalry to the town of Alba Fucens, beside the shores of the Fucine Lake.

   John was
instructed to observe the truce and refrain from the slightest act of aggression. If the Goths broke the treaty, he was to ride out without delay and overrun the province of Picenum, a region of Italy between the Appenines and the Adriatic Sea. In this way Belisarius anticipated the renewal of war, and planned in advance while continuing to negotiate with the Goths.