Vengeance (14 page)

‘Hail friends,’ called out the fellow in the right centre with the pollarding tool, speaking in common argot Greek. He was taller and more bulky than his companions and up close slightly better clad, his clothing a padded jerkin in good condition. ‘Do you come to join us in the cause of Jesus?’

‘We do indeed,’ Dardanies called back, revealing that he knew Greek as well as Latin, before dropping his voice. ‘Another ten paces, then we cast.’

The weapon they had supposed to be a pike was then raised, but aimed at the sky. ‘We have a long march till we join with General Vitalian, but it will be a cheerier one in company.’

‘Vitalian,’ Flavius croaked.

‘So?’

Flavius ignored the enquiry from Dardanies and called out quickly, for there was no time to explain. ‘You are joining the man who commands the
foederati
?’

‘What man would not, who cares about one day ascending to paradise?’

‘Keep hold of your spears,’ Flavius insisted, his voice a hiss.

‘We must act.’

‘Look at these men, do they threaten us?’ Then he called out again. ‘We are on the same purpose.’

‘Then a blessing upon you, young sir, and a tribute to your years.’

For a moment Flavius thought he had been recognised and he tugged at his cowl to make sure his face was partially hidden.

‘By your throat I know you are not yet a man but there’s not a
right-thinking soul in Moesia of any age and who can fight that does not rally to the general’s banner. By the time all are assembled we will be a mighty host. It is time that old fart and skinflint Anastasius was kicked out of his palace and sent to live in Egypt amidst those heretics he is so keen on siding with.’

‘Time to decide,’ Dardanies spat.

There was even less time to explain now than hitherto, added to which he had no idea if Dardanies would even understand; how could a pagan comprehend those who advanced the Chalcedonian dogma and were prepared to rebel against a Monophysite emperor to kill off the rival creed they saw as heresy?

Did he even know that Monophysitism existed? Was he aware that this had been brewing for decades and had been a bone to be gnawed at in the Belisarius house? If there was to be an uprising in a cause in which his father believed, should he leave his post to join it? If he had never served under Vitalian he held him to be both honest and upright in his faith.

‘Just do as I say,’ Flavius insisted.

‘You’re giving orders?’ Dardanies demanded.

‘You got the right of it, Master Flavius?’

‘Yes.’

‘Certain, are you?’

‘Keep your spear down and for the love of the Lord smile.’

Ohannes hissed at Dardanies. ‘Best do as he says.’

‘You might, I won’t.’

‘Six against one, I think you may well just.’

They were within easy throwing distance now, so close they could barely miss. Yet there was still no hint of a threat from those standing before them and they were grinning. Maybe it was those looks that
persuaded Dardanies, Flavius never knew. He just had a certainty that the way to get clear of any threat from Senuthius was in the company of men going south to fight for General Vitalian. That way they could, instead of skulking from hedgerow to hedgerow, walk the open road without fear.

There was only one question remaining and that would make all the difference, one that made him take a tight grip on that spear shaft again. With his other hand and holding his breath Flavius threw back the cowl to fully reveal his face. With six pairs of eyes upon it, and the same number of faces to examine, there was a gap of several seconds before he could exhale with relief; there was no exclamation, no flash of recognition in those faces. He was to them a stranger.

T
he exchange of names that followed was the usual blur of words and greetings, carried out when they were moving again, meaning not many would be immediately recollected, though when Flavius gave his given name – he did not add the non-peasant Belisarius – that raised an eyebrow, such a clearly Roman tag for someone who appeared to be a
rusticus
being unusual in these parts, this quickly covered by the excuse, albeit a true one, that his father had been a soldier.

The name Dardanies was accepted, given many a barbarian crossed into Roman territory to live and work, while Ohannes being Greek raised not an eyebrow, though it occurred to Flavius, and it should have done previously, that the old soldier must have adopted it at some time, which led him to wonder what he had been called at birth.

The spokesman of the group was the one with the padded jerkin,
the imposing belly, the loud voice and the long pollarding saw. Called Bassus he was very much the leader, either by sheer force of his personality or some position he held yet to be established. As they walked and conversed it was necessary to be very vague about from where they had come, as well as many other matters that would naturally occur in conversation.

‘How did you come to be fully armed?’ had been one of the first and most awkward enquiries, though men who had only farming implements posed it in envy not suspicion.

Flavius responded quickly, conjuring up a handy lie, aware that the others were struggling to think of an answer; they were, after all, masquerading as peasants.

‘I am the son of a soldier and he was able to equip us all.’

‘He must be a man of means, then?’ Bassus boomed.

‘He is a man who hoards weapons, friend, for he has long been eager to be on the enterprise in which we are engaged.’ The question that hung in the air was quickly dealt with by another hurried bit of invention. ‘He is too old, himself, though he will scarce admit it.’

‘Ten years on me,’ Ohannes added, picking up on the falsehood and proving yet again he was no fool, ‘but still with fire for the love of God in his belly.’

‘Praise be to that,’ Bassus responded.

His look of satisfaction communicated itself to the others, the subsequent talk they exchanged amongst themselves establishing the names in the mind of Flavius and he assumed the others. There was a Firmius, confusingly two men called Gregoras, a Phocas and the youngest, not much above the age of Flavius, called Rogas. They came across as simple and easy-going folk as were others they encountered, like the inhabitants of a clutch of dwellings that lay
close to the track, who rushed out with fruit and bread with which to feed them and praise their purpose.

The glue of the cohesion of all was religion, which required to be explained to a sceptical Dardanies, something carried out away from the rest of the group – who, finding themselves amongst like souls, country people who shared their concerns about crops, weather and the price of the harvest, were engaged in comforting conversation, consuming the gifts they had been given while batting away the questions of eager and numerous children who darted around them demanding attention.

Ohannes seemed the most indulgent of the brats, allowing them to play with his weapons and pretending to terror when they threatened him, the babble of these excited urchins allowing Flavius to give an outline of the dispute between emperor and citizens without any risk of being overheard, not that he received the impression his explanation made, to his listener, any sense. On examination, did it really do so for him? In seeking to clarify the point of disagreement he had been obliged to examine his own words as he delivered them, which raised in his mind a lack of his previous certainty as to the rightness of the cause.

While he held that the Chalcedonian dogma was the correct reading of scripture, that Jesus could be both human and divine and be born of a woman, he did wonder if it was a belief that justified conflict that might lead to bloodshed. Not that he was prepared to allow the Monophysite position dominance, but he did wonder why the two could not coexist, in mutual tolerance if not harmony.

‘If you had many gods, as we do, every man could worship those that mean most to him,’ Dardanies responded, ‘and leave others to find their own way to consolation.’

‘To think so is to condemn your soul to perdition.’

‘You believe in what you call hell?’

‘I do, but you may call it Hades if you wish.’

‘One day we might meet in the afterlife and carry on the argument.’

‘Make it too loudly in this type of company and we will be there soon.’

‘You are good at telling lies, Flavius Belisarius, is that a Christian virtue?’

Sensing the mockery, the youngster was close to an angry reply, but he bit back on it. ‘It is storytelling and necessary and it would do you well to take more part, as Ohannes does, for your silence and distance might make them suspect you.’

‘The first one to do so will die, so be on your guard for I will need you to aid me with the remainder.’

If Dardanies was smiling he was not joking and that was a worrying thought, which produced a possible solution. ‘With these fellows to accompany us we have no more need of your protection.’

‘The day will come when I feel that to be true, then you will wake the next morning to find me gone.’

‘But not yet?’

‘No. We could still be on land owned by Senuthius and he has a presence well to the south here.’

Flavius nodded; he knew as well as Dardanies that though they were passing out of the senator’s properties they were not yet clear. Ownership of land was as nothing to the extent of his influence; those feeding and praising them now might be his tenants or, if freeholders, senatorial clients. Between Dorostorum and Marcianopolis he would have like-minded magnates who had no doubt been requested to look out for Flavius, the same kind of message and for the same kind
of rewards he had sent over the river to the Sklaveni.

It had been another block to any attempt to curtail Senuthius. He had clients all over the province, people who would, like him, have armed retainers. So to get beyond the very furthest limit of his reach was a distance too great to calculate. In truth, given the number of fighting men Senuthius alone could muster, added to the danger that could be visited upon Flavius if that imperial commission arrived, was there any number of leagues that would guarantee safety?

His mind was diverted from these worries when Bassus called out, he having assumed a sort of leadership of the whole, that it was time to move on. It suited the trio not to dispute his assumption of authority or to question his opinion.

In making their way Flavius and Ohannes would engage in conversation with whomsoever they found themselves alongside, Dardanies less so; indeed, he kept a worrying distance and what Flavius feared with growing certainty came to pass as Bassus, having made a point of getting close and out of nearby hearing, pointed out, in a low voice larded with suspicion, that he was a quiet one.

‘As ever was. His mind wanders and he has had much grief in his life.’ That getting a sympathetic grunt, Flavius was quick to add, ‘Not that he talks of it, he keeps his pain to himself.’

‘He will have faith in the Lord to see him through.’

That was not a question but a statement and one with which Flavius was happy to concur, but he did add that Dardanies had an unpredictable temper, one triggered by any allusion to that which troubled him, with an added aside that it might be politic for Bassus to pass that on to his companions.

‘It would be sad that our cause should suffer, even in a slight way, for any dissension.’

‘I’ll pass the word.’

Before the sun began to dip they came across another band, a group of four souls again armed with various farming tools, all capable of damage to flesh and bone but not in any way military. They too were heading to join General Vitalian, which had Flavius covering his head until the greetings were complete and he was sure that recognition was unlikely. Another even more confusing round of introductions followed, added to additional curses aimed at the emperor and even more declarations that he needed to be brought to see the error of his ways.

The night was spent in a barn provided by an eager-to-please-them farmer and a prosperous one. He had slaves of both sexes and while the males fetched water with which to bathe weary feet, the females brought food of a quality that probably few of those present, judging by their comments, normally enjoyed. Flavius had, and in consuming it his mind was taken back to his home and his loss, so that he needed to turn away his face so that none could remark on his evident discomfort.

In imagining what had taken place by the banks of the Danube, he could see his brothers slash and cut with their swords, hearing his father’s voice as he issued commands that would close the ranks of those he led, to cover for the fallen as they retreated step by step. They had rushed into battle with the certain assurance of support, only to find none coming and themselves isolated. Had the creeping knowledge that they were being betrayed slowly sapped their courage?

‘Easy, Flavius,’ Ohannes said, very softly and with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

‘You do not know what is on my mind.’

‘I can guess, for you were grunting and cursing.’

‘I can see them fighting, Ohannes, and I can see them cut down, feel their pain as well as their despair as the truth dawns.’

‘They died fighting and if your brothers were like your papa, and from what I knew of them they were, all would say to you now, if they could, that they would rather die in combat than in bed of old age. What they could not have lived with was to run from danger.’

Flavius knew it to be a comforting fallacy, the stuff of imaginings common to him and his peers as they wielded their wooden weapons and dreamt of glory, but he could not find it in himself to challenge Ohannes in a cruel way.

‘You have many years on you and still breathe.’

‘For which I thank the Lord.’

‘And I thank him too,’ Flavius replied, crossing himself.

A sort of commotion in another part of the barn distracted them, the sound of a squealing female and the raised voice of one of the men they had met late in the day. Standing, for to do so was to take his mind away from his troubled thoughts, Flavius saw that the fellow had hold of the girl’s wrist – and she was that, not much more than his age and slim of figure, no match in strength for the fellow troubling her.

The movement of Dardanies, much closer to him, he caught out of the corner of his eye. He was feeling for his spear and Flavius guessed it was a desire to protect the girl that would animate him; she was a slave and very likely she was like him, a barbarian and a pagan, perhaps even one of those taken by Senuthius in one of his raids on the Sklaveni and sold to this well-to-do farmer.

‘Dardanies,’ he hissed.

Flavius was shaking his head violently as he stepped out into the centre of the barn, glad to see that his action had stopped the movement of the hand. It had not changed the look on the face, which was still one of seething fury, and that deepened as the girl squealed again and twisted to try and get clear, the action producing laughter, worryingly from more than one throat.

‘Ohannes, help me deal with this.’

Flavius stepped forward without waiting to see if his request had been met, moving towards the point of nuisance, unhappy to note that Bassus, who acted the leader in everything else, was not willing to do so now. The voice over his shoulder calmed him.

‘Best leave that wench be, friend,’ said Ohannes.

That killed off the laughter and changed it to something more troubling. After a moment of confusion the face of the man holding and pulling at the girl’s wrist altered completely. When he spoke there was not a trace of affability in his voice.

‘And who would be telling me what to do and what not?’

‘I would,’ Ohannes said, stepping past Flavius.

In a straw-filled barn lit by oil lamps, placed carefully to avoid starting a fire, the old soldier looked grim, ten times more so with his badly cut hair than he had before.

‘And who might you be?’

‘A Christian, brother, as are you and one that would feel it a sin to taunt.’

The eyebrows went up and he tugged at the held wrist. ‘This? She’s a barbarian, man.’

‘So you would treat her as a plaything?’ Flavius asked.

‘Jealous are you, youngster?’

‘Disappointed that anyone marching on the Lord’s business should act as you are doing now.’

That made the fellow sit forward, the action dragging the still-held girl with him, bringing from her throat a whimper of pain. ‘Careful I don’t box your ears, lad.’

Flavius was dying to look behind him, to see what Dardanies was doing, but he dared not; he needed to hold this fellow’s eyes, even as he jeered at him.

‘By the look of your mug that’s been visited upon you not long past.’

‘And,’ Ohannes barked, ‘the man who did it is dead.’

‘What, this mite a killer?’

The miscreant looked around his companions and laughed, far from encouraged by their less supportive response – his insult aimed at Flavius was being seen as wide of the mark, for if he did look young he was tall, showed decent muscle, while the glare on his face left no one in any doubt he was serious. All of these factors, when he did speak again, made the fellow sound sullen.

‘Man wants to have a bit of fun with a slave girl and suddenly …’

He did not finish, his eyes moving sideways, which told Flavius that Dardanies had joined him. As his look ranged over them it was clear he saw the threat the trio posed and so did those he could call companions.

‘Game’s not worth the candle, is it?’ Ohannes asked.

The moment of danger seemed to last longer than the actual time, the tension being something Flavius felt he could almost touch. The girl’s wrist he let go of and she ran out of the barn, an act followed by a stillness as the odds were assessed, not least how much support the man who had held her had from those with whom he had taken
to the road. It was the lack of certainty there, Flavius thought, which produced the response.