Flavius Belisarius was given the leadership of the cavalry under the command of one Sittas, thirty years his senior, invading a region lacking a force with which to contest. He was part of an army of several thousand local levies that barely qualified as proper infantry, milities happy to partake in the destruction of any of their neighbour’s goods which could not be carried away. This did not include the various municipal treasuries taken from unfortified towns or objects of gold and silver and the coin-filled chests of the wealthier inhabitants. These, along with huge herds of horses and cattle, were brought back into Roman territory, while the crops that could not be eaten or brought out were burnt.
A cock-a-hoop Justinian, having seen the profits of what he saw as his masterful strategy, determined on another major raid, which was to be launched with high hopes and many a flowery prayer for an assured victory, this despite attempts by Flavius to suggest to him that such an incursion might run into trouble if it was pushed forward too aggressively.
He was right: this time they did not get far from the border marker posts of Armenia Inferior; the Persians were alert and awaiting them in superior numbers, which obliged Sittas to order an immediate withdrawal, though his reaction proved to be too slow. The Persians, as ever strong in their mounted arm and with a host of horse archers, moved too fast.
The Romans were forced into a post-noon battle in which their enemy chose the ground, open and waterless, with no protection on either flank, where the Sassanids could deploy two weapons which the Romans had ever struggled to contend with. First the horse archers wrought havoc, and by breaking up the various untrained milities units they destroyed any hope of holding the field. Then the Sassanids sent forward a body of their cataphract cavalry, lance-bearing armoured horsemen on equally protected substantial mounts, small in number on this occasion, but extremely effective.
Flavius was denied the chance to send forward his cavalry, who had taken the name of bucellarii from the hard biscuit that made up the base of their rations, in reality to test them in battle, which might not reverse matters but would buy time. Sittas feared to lose the one arm that might save him and nor did he seek to hold until nightfall, when it would become possible to slip away, albeit in broken groups.
He ordered an immediate retreat, one in which his already distressed units fell into chaos to become no more than a terrified rabble. Only the mounted force under Flavius, with Sittas in their midst, was able to ride clear. They returned to Theodosiopolis to find Justinian no longer present and if, at first thought it was to avoid blame for the defeat, that proved wrong.
The message of recall had come from the capitaclass="underline" Justin was dying and the designated successor had to be in Constantinople to claim his inheritance. Flavius was ordered to follow at once, it being obvious his friend would want close to him all those who would protect his person. Leaving the bucellarii to follow as fast as they could, he used many changes of mounts to ensure he arrived in time to pay his dying mentor his due respect.
In that he failed; Justin had passed away in a fog of debilitation, babbling of a life very far removed from that to which he had risen. The old man had harked back over sixty years to a rustic youth spent trying adult patience, scrapping for the means to eat at constant risk of a barbarian incursion, the very event that had driven him from his home and hearth in the company of his friends, one of them Flavius’s father.
Justin was not alone in sloughing off his mortal coil; by the time Flavius reached the imperial palace Vitalian too was dead, but not through age or infirmity. He had been strangled as soon as the news of Justin’s demise was promulgated, proof of just how much Justinian feared him. He would not have done the deed himself for he was not capable, but it had the Sabbatius imprint all over it; had he not advised Justin that the man be killed years before?
On meeting his now sole Emperor, it was not a subject to be mentioned, even if Flavius suspected Justinian wanted him to enquire so he could either boast of it, explain or deny culpability. Such matters, when they came together, were best left unspoken but a message had been sent to anyone inclined to trouble the new reign and that included the nephews of Anastasius.
Matters in the east had not gone well and not just in Armenia. The incursion meant to threaten Nisibis had ended in fiasco, without even a pretence of a fight and the man in charge had been dismissed. Not that Justinian seemed chastened, if anything he was more determined than ever, even when the news came that Timostratus, the dux Mesopotamiae had died at Dara, leaving the forces there without a commander.
‘I have sent word to Kavadh that, even if he must be feeling sure of his superiority, there will be no more talents coming his way. The imperial treasury is not as it should be, my uncle was too lax and too generous, as well as failing to punish those who freely lined their own purses.’
‘I am sure you advised him on that.’
‘Advised,’ Justinian replied, imbuing the word with deep and unpleasant meaning. ‘If I had a solidus for every time my advice was ignored, that to punish one of these thieves would only stir up more trouble, we could buy the Sassanid Empire wholesale.’
Flavius chuckled at the joke, which died in his throat as he realised it was not meant to be one. ‘It will mean war. If Kavadh cannot pay for peace within his own domains then he has no choice but to threaten Rome.’
‘And he will be well supported by those to whom he has passed our gold over the years. Could we pay them directly and undermine Kavadh?’
‘You could try, but the various tribes are weak individually as well as mutually lacking in trust, which bars them acting together. They would be left at the mercy of Kavadh and we would not be able to aid them if he sought to impose his authority.’
‘So he will attack us once more?’ Not waiting for a reply Justinian continued. ‘Why can we not beat him?’
It should have been unnecessary to cite the reasons but Flavius did so anyway; his numerical advantage, given by territorial proximity, better tactics and poor leadership on the Roman side, the last wrapped in caveats lest, after the loss in Armenia, it imply Justinian himself. There was also his own part in that flight back to Roman territory, though it had been made plain to him that Sittas was the man who bore responsibility.
‘But it must be possible, though it will be far from easy and luck must play a part as well as generalship.’
‘Then I hope you are gifted with both.’
The Emperor was looking at him, head canted to one side in that manner Flavius knew so well, a slight smile playing on his lips, yet one so faint it was hard to decipher the meaning.
‘Are you toying with me, Highness?’
‘No, I am not,’ came the terse reply, meant no doubt to infer that emperors did not jest.
‘You have heard of the fate of Timostratus?’ Flavius nodded, as Justinian added, ‘I do not see it as much of a loss, for he was not aggressive.’
‘Sometimes that is a good strategy.’
‘It is too often employed. You will replace Timostratus and I know you will be more active.’
Flavius was tempted to mention his lack of years and a corresponding absence of experience in high command, indeed to decline what was clearly being offered, yet he struggled to find the words, having spent the last ten years wondering at how some of those who had been given leadership of the imperial armies had ever secured their place.
He had never met Timostratus but he was one whose appointment smacked more of politics than military judgement until you remembered that Justin, who put him in place, had wanted nothing more than to keep the peace. That, under the new reign, was set to change, so the demise of the man had been fortuitous.