It had been removed, no doubt on the orders of Gelimer, to where no one knew, but what it meant was that the man who had occupied the city previously had the means, in both manpower and money, to keep the war going. Flavius made plain, through the leading citizens of the city whom he called to consult with him, that his policy towards the Vandals who remained with Carthage was one of peace and harmony, the same as he was extending to the old Roman stock.
Most had fled to their churches and monasteries for sanctuary from the expected wrath of their enemies; he had to convince them that they had nothing to fear. Then he turned to other pressing matters. Defending the place!
‘The walls can wait, surely, Husband,’ Antonina protested, when he said his next task was to inspect them. It was unfortunate that it was Procopius who chose to respond, saying the same as would his employer but beating him to it.
‘Gelimer is not yet beaten.’
‘Then wave your stylus at him, Procopius. I am sure he will flee then.’
The reply was icy and delivered with a thin and waspish smile. ‘Perhaps, Lady Antonina, he will encounter your good self and surrender to be spared from your tongue.’
‘Procopius, enough,’ Flavius barked. ‘Both of you are commenting on matters outside your responsibilities.’
‘As if I had been granted any,’ pouted his wife.
‘You have them now. I am the imperial representative here and you’re my consort, which will mean many tasks devolving upon you to ensure that what we have gained stays in our possession.’
‘And what will they be?’
‘Ask Theodora,’ Procopius suggested. ‘I’m sure she will be able to advise you of your duties.’
‘Just as long as you never seek to.’
‘I am off to inspect the walls,’ Flavius growled. ‘They at least will not dispute with me.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
‘The walls are in such poor repair, they are inadequate to repel an assault. One push and half the stones will fall.’
Valerianus replied to Flavius with something of a shrug. ‘Then they need to be rebuilt.’
‘We would struggle to hold them if Gelimer attacks.’
‘Flavius Belisarius, there is no indication that he has the strength.’
The desire to tell him he was wrong was solid; they had driven Gelimer from the battlefield but he had not been destroyed. The relationship with his second in command was interesting, Valerianus being a patrician; it must be galling to serve under someone from the Belisarius background, the son of a centurion commanding the offshoot of generals.
His family had filled military and bureaucratic posts within the empire for centuries and, given his name, it was odd that when he spoke he chose to do so in Greek, a growing trait throughout the higher reaches of the old aristocracy. Flavius made a point of speaking to him in Latin, which tended to make the man think before replying, even if he had been reminded several times that was the language of the people they now controlled.
He never dared to condescend openly to his commanding general, nor was he overly questioning on his tactics, perhaps because he had good grounds to think that Flavius would not remain in Carthage, so there would exist a vacancy to succeed him in what would be a rich office in a province ripe for plucking. The man to whom he was talking always wondered if that was why he was studiously polite.
‘I want a ditch dug around the land walls, that to be lined with stakes. Then, and only then, can we consider working on any masonry.’
‘My infantry are looking forward to a touch of ease.’
‘Then employ the citizens of the city, Valerianus; let them show in labour how much they appreciate our victory.’
‘The Emperor?’
‘I am sending Solomon to Constantinople to carry the news.’
There was a blink then, of what? Jealousy. The messenger to Justinian would be well rewarded. Was it a task for which Valerianus could put himself forward and one he might have a right to claim?
‘Digging ditches. I doubt my family will be impressed.’
‘No one is asking you to personally employ a spade.’
The task was completed within a week by obliging the Carthaginians to provide the necessary muscle. Flavius felt more secure, albeit there was bad news as well as good. Gelimer’s brother, Tzazon, had reconquered Sardinia, killing the leader of the rebellion which would, once he was appraised of the defeat at home, bring him and his five thousand warriors back to North Africa. The only silver lining was that the four hundred Heruls under Pharas that Flavius had sent to aid the uprising had arrived too late to become involved and were coming back to rejoin him.
Next news came of a Visigoth refusal to aid Gelimer. The envoys he had sent to Hispania were slackers and arrived just as the news of the fall of Carthage reached the Visigoth ruler; he sent them home without bothering to tell them, thus they landed in Carthage and fell straight into the hands of the Romans. That at least shut off a potential route of escape for Gelimer, not that any indication came he was seeking one.
He had called all the remaining Vandals to his banner and was distributing gold to the indigenes who resided on the breadbasket Plains of Boulla to aid him. There was also a reward offered for the head of any one of the men Flavius led. This was particularly a problem inside the city, given the ease of committing murder. Delivery was harder and searches were introduced in which several villains were apprehended and hung from the newly repaired sections of the walls. Most of the victims turned out to be servants; the soldiers, armed, were too difficult a target.
‘What will Gelimer do next?’ was the question on everyone’s lips.
‘He must attack us,’ replied John the Armenian, who since the departure of Solomon had become close to Flavius and had no fear of speaking out at the daily conference. ‘He needs a quick win and that is the only way to get one.’
That opened a discussion on how to counter that; to exit the city and fight him in the open — favoured by the likes of Balas and the cavalry commanders — or to sit behind the walls and wait to be attacked. There might be much talking but the man in command was sure of his own course. He would act defensively for now as he had no need to do otherwise; Gelimer was the one with the problem.
‘Has his brother joined him yet?’ Valerianus asked.
‘We must assume he has yet to arrive,’ Procopius said, intelligence on the enemy being his responsibility. ‘In my view he will move as soon as that happens.’
That raised a few eyebrows amongst the military men; what was this clerkish fellow doing commenting on matters that were their territory?
‘The Moors?’ John asked; that was the province of the secretary.
‘They seem reluctant to give him aid. Some have joined Gelimer but not all they can muster. I have some hopes of making an alliance that will favour us, for I have made it plain that we Romans have no designs on Mauretania.’
‘Yet,’ Valerianus crowed.
‘Probably never,’ Flavius interjected, only for Procopius to tell everyone why.
‘Move on Mauretania and you will have the Visigoths to contend with. They do not want us on the south side of the Pillars of Hercules.’
‘We beat the Vandals and we can beat them too.’
‘With the Moors fully on their side.’
‘Well, it is plain,’ Flavius concluded, ‘that Gelimer is gathering strength and not only from Sardinia. He is collecting in every waif and stray he can find to beef up his forces. If he does not come to us, which like John I think he must, then we must go to him and before our army gets too soft from luxuriating in Carthage.’