After a decade of imperial inaction the Centurion Decimus Belisarius had finally got what he wanted; the promise of a high-ranking official commission to investigate the crimes and misdemeanours of his adversary and one kept secret even from the Emperor’s own court officials. Somehow Senuthius Vicinus, the rogue in question, must have got wind of it and his reaction was to contrive a plan that removed the messenger and thus the threat.
Lying on his cot Flavius reprised what happened next; he had been forced to flee from his family home in the company of his father’s aged domesticus Ohannes. A one-time fighting soldier, he had ensured the last surviving child did not suffer the same fate of the rest of his family, for Senuthius saw security only in the wiping out of the entire Belisarius clan. It was a blessing his mother had been absent visiting relatives when her family was destroyed for she too would have faced death, and escape with her in company would probably have been impossible.
Now he recalled the visit he had made to her and the tears they had both shed as he recounted the details of what had occurred. Not that she was unaware; he had sent Ohannes to her with the sad news so he was at least spared being the first to say the words and by the time he met with her, grief had mellowed to stoic acceptance. Happily, despite being deeply religious, she had never hinted any disapproval of the way he had seen to the remains of her husband and sons, which was seen by many as blasphemous.
On the site of the deadly encounter Flavius had built and lit a funeral pyre in true Roman fashion, sure his father would have approved, for he was strong for the virtues of the great millennial empire. That brought his ruminations full circle; it had been Petrus who had created the circumstances that got Flavius his revenge, Petrus who had given him the means to bring down Senuthius.
Rising from his bed and falling to his knees he began to pray for the souls of his lost family and he decided to include Petrus. Surely, given his nature, his way of living and his scheming nature, he required much intercession with the Almighty. Only when his supplications were concluded was it possible to sleep.
It was refreshing to be back in the saddle, spotting places and landscapes that had marked his passage south serving as a ranker under the rebellious Vitalian. Ohannes had been by his side much of the way, chastising, moaning and occasionally praising his young charge. There was a warm memory too, underscored with guilt, regarding a girl he had met, one of a group of camp followers; the warmth came from his first introduction to physical love, the guilt from a feeling he had abandoned her to pursue his own cause.
Their route, the Via Gemina ran along the shores of the Euxine Sea, which, when it was in sight, brought with it a welcome breeze that took some of the heat out of the air. Reaching Odessus they turned inland toward Marcianopolis, the landscape changing from an open vista to one often enclosed by thick woods, dotted with areas where these opened out to show fields of corn stubble. Often there were small groups of dwellings around a set of farm buildings and a villa.
They were now in country over which Vitalian exercised total control, for the imperial writ did not run in these parts, a region where, Flavius suspected, there would be no meaningful law. The man he had come to see was a rebel and his interest lay in ensuring the security of his fighting men; enforcing order on the surrounding countryside was a secondary consideration and would only concern the security of supply.
Nothing drove home more the state of affairs than the lack of traffic and when they did come across anyone moving towards the coast the party took time to assess them before coming on, passing with the minimum of exchange based on caution. Rebellion brought on lawlessness as the worst elements of the citizenry sought to profit from disorder so it was necessary to be guarded; no more resting in comfortable mansiones, no delightful and gratifying baths and no more changes of mounts.
What they rode was what they had so the animals had to be husbanded and cared for. Now it was a half-riding, half-walking progression with two men up ahead looking out for trouble and swords and spears to hand. Even divested of their fine Excubitor armour these ten men and their officer presented a tempting target if spotted by a large band of brigands, albeit one that could fight.
In the high heat of midday it was necessary to find shade and a stream, to unsaddle the mounts to let them drink as they wished and graze while Flavius and his men likewise rested. Where possible, when they camped for the night, it was within sight of one of those villas-cum-farms and their presence was not usually welcome, they being quickly identified as imperial soldiers and thus dangerous folk to be seen to be helping. Any objections had to be brushed aside; such places had feed to sell for both horses and humans and wells to access for much needed water.
The hilly country closer to Marcianopolis made more manifest that which they had already encountered; in the wooded valleys there was no farming and in high summer no trails of woodsmoke in the sky to hint at dwellings of any kind. The trees were taller, and being in full leaf and untended they formed a canopy that joined above their heads to create a tunnel. Likewise the actual pave was in poor repair, with blocks missing and in some cases whole sections gone, looking to have been washed away in winter storms.
The feeling you are being watched, once it takes hold, is impossible to shake and Flavius had felt it for the whole morning. There were signs, though they could be animal not human; sudden rustlings in the undergrowth not far from the road, the occasional startled bird that cawed as it was disturbed and flew to safety, added to that the particular sound a frightened pigeon makes as in escaping danger its wings flap against a surround of leaves.
Even in such dense woodland, where the sun did not penetrate, it was hot, and worse, it was humid. So walking the horses so as not to tire them out increased the feeling of vulnerability. Also, the need to find a resting place just off this badly maintained road was just as paramount, the problem being that if they existed, and they did, they tended to be tight glades with trickling streams that made the feeling of enclosure acute.
‘Leave the riding horses saddled,’ Flavius ordered, looking aloft at the patch of sky afforded them by the surrounding trees. ‘Lead them to water and let them drink in pairs. Likewise we eat and drink two at a time, with the rest to stay armed and alert.’
‘I don’t like it much either, Your Honour.’
‘Too quiet?’
‘That, and the itch in my neck.’
Karas, the decanus who had spoken, was no spring chicken; he was an experienced soldier with a face the colour of leather, eyes surrounded by wrinkles and he acted as second in command. Flavius had learnt to have great respect for his abilities on the ride north; he kept the rest of the men up to the mark and was not slow to remind them that they belonged to a unit that formed the elite of the imperial army, with a responsibility to behave like it.
‘Thoughts, Karas?’
That made the decanus blink; he was unaccustomed to have his views sought never mind listened to. Before he replied his eyes ranged around the surrounding trees, given there was no need to allude to what was being asked.
‘It’s not bears or cats.’
‘Human, then?’
A nod. ‘If there is a threat out there it is not large or well-armed, nor is it mounted.’
‘They would have attacked us on the road.’
Karas nodded. ‘So it won’t be blood they’re after but what we carry on the pack animals, for they will have seen our weapons. A horse round here and to a peasant will be of value an’ all, Your Honour, never mind their loads.’