That was a cunning ploy — he was unlikely to give up what was once part of the Roman Empire — given Amalasuintha depended on the Emperor’s support to hold her own position against her nobles. The notion came from Procopius who, having served throughout the campaign, had continued to impress the man for whom he laboured, the only problem being that Antonina was sure he was vying for influence in a way that was designed to ensure she provided none.
If the burden of winning the campaign had been hard, acting as a proconsul was even more difficult, though at least he could send the Huns home, which removed the running sore of their discontent. But for the others there were responsibilities to undertake in garrisoning the vital cities that held the whole polity together. Another problem was that not all the tax and census details for the whole region could be found, and fearing to be landed with the burden of repair he agreed with Procopius to hand the matter over to Constantinople; let them provide the people to right that loss.
The feeling that matters had changed since the conclusion of the war was palpable. In some senses it reminded Flavius of that which he had observed in the corridors of the imperial palace, sly looks and especially long silences when he held a conference of his commanders, he being left with the feeling they were not all entirely with him. Nothing manifested this more than the reaction to the oft-reiterated mantra that they must be seen to be different to the Vandals.
They had not come like them to live off the toil of others, to eat food they did not grow and to reward themselves with monies they did not earn so they could retain their martial purity. The population must be treated as Romans should, the Vandals willing to change must be integrated into the society in which they lived.
Procopius had a reason, ‘I think you will find, General, that ambition is stirring in more than one breast. There is much to aim for.’
‘I always get the impression that with Valerianus he cannot wait for me to depart.’
‘He is an officer in the praesental and personally appointed by his emperor as commander. He would need a commission directly from Justinian to succeed you.’
‘Meaning I could not anoint him even if I wanted to?’
‘Legally, no.’
‘He must know that, Procopius?’
The look Flavius got them told him that if one general did not know the statutes by which such matters were decided why should another? And Flavius had to acknowledge his understanding of the legal codes of the empire were sketchy.
‘Maybe I should ask him outright.’
‘That rarely provides an honest answer.’
Looking at him, tall, slim and by his movements somewhat fussy, Flavius wondered if even Procopius always told him the truth. The man was so clearly committed to him he had to hope it was the case, despite Antonina’s insistence that he was the kind to always have up his sleeve a means by which he could protect himself.
‘Those sort always do,’ she had said more than once.
Was he that sort? There had been no evidence that Flavius could see, no lovers of either gender. It seemed as if Procopius had no need of such attachments, content to immerse himself in his toils to the exclusion of a private life. He certainly took little pleasure in the regular entertainments that, despite Antonina’s clear hostility, he was at liberty to attend — gatherings of officers and officials to eat and drink, and others where the Lady Belisarius brought in singers and dancers.
They were far from being to her own husband’s taste, being too frivolous at a time when he was engaged in a war. It seemed wrong to be entertaining oneself when what you were planning would see men die, and that might include your own self. Antonina would have none of that; if you could not relax, to her mind, how could you fight?
‘Might I suggest, General, that a watch be kept on some of your officers?’
‘Why?’ came the guarded response.
‘You have just alluded to what is at stake here in North Africa. A rich province far from Constantinople, ambitious men-’
‘No, Procopius, let us see if we can just trust them.’
Yet what his secretary was suggesting did stay with Flavius; anyone seizing the province and declaring themselves as rulers would have many factors on their side. Distance, of course, the fact that it could not be carried out without troops but they, the Belisarius comitatus aside, would be bribable with slave-cultivated land if not hard coin. But to actually spy on them was not to his taste. In this he was circumvented.
‘You must forgive me for acting without your express permission.’
‘Against my express orders more like. What possessed you?’
‘Is my skin not worth saving?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then accept that was my purpose.’
Tempted to argue with that, Flavius declined to do so. It might have been to save him that he acted. ‘Are they fit for me to question them?’
‘They will answer whatever you ask.’
The two specimens brought into his presence by Pharas and a couple of his Heruls were in a sorry state. Middle-ranking officers, they had been racked and had hot iron applied to their flesh. Their straggle of beards showed they had been long unshaven and in their eyes Flavius was sure he saw despair.
They had been apprehended boarding a ship bound for Constantinople, one of the many elements of the fleet that had fetched the expedition to these shores, returning to their home ports to resume their normal trading duties. Their owners had never liked the rate they were paid by the imperial treasury for their hire and had been clamouring for the return of their property.
‘Fetch wine and bread,’ Flavius said. ‘These men need sustenance.’
‘They need a rope round their neck,’ Pharas responded.
‘Have you tried kindness, Pharas? They may have told you what you wanted to know.’
That got a look of utter disbelief and not only from the Heruls; Procopius was equally unconvinced. The servants did as their masters required; the two miscreants were allowed to sit, Flavius watching them all the time while aware he was being likewise examined by those to whom he owed a debt of gratitude.
The pair had already confessed under torture to the mission on which they had been engaged, carrying a message to Justinian telling him that Flavius Belisarius, his most trusted general, was about to rebel and seize the old Vandal kingdom for himself. What they would not divulge was the identity of the person on whose behalf they were acting.
It took no great genius to see what was being hatched: a smokescreen for another’s ambition, the chance to create, after a coup, the time to organise the province so that when it was declared free of imperial control it would have a chance of survival. Though it had not been extracted from their bleeding lips, because the question had never been put, there was another obvious point. For any rebellion to succeed he would have to be killed and very likely, given it would include anyone loyal to him, it would result in the death of Antonina as well.
It was Procopius acting on his own who had uncovered the plot and his point about his own skin was well made; he was too close to Flavius to survive. The recruitment of Pharas had been clever. Procopius knew how much faith his employer had in the leader of the Heruls just as he was aware that if asked he would keep the secret until the time came to reveal it and help to extract from the culprits what the general needed to know.
‘So, Procopius, from the beginning?’
‘Pharas came to me first.’