‘I doubt it matters who he sent, General. There is too much temptation here even for an honest man.’
‘I hope my coffers only hold that which is my due.’
‘Which is my point,’ Procopius replied. ‘You are honest and those coffers are overflowing.’
‘With you being straightforward on my behalf, I know.’
That made Procopius preen and again that was let pass. The time had come to meet the representatives from Constantinople, for as well as their imperial edicts they carried those detailing how the province should be run and garrisoned, orders he would have to begin to implement. They also carried a sealed communication from the Emperor to him, which he opened in their presence, though much to their obvious frustration he did not divulge the contents.
‘You will wish to read it, Procopius?’ Flavius said, when they were alone.
‘If I am permitted.’
The held-out hand gave the lie to that faux reluctance and his secretary took and read the letter, skipping over the niceties of greeting and praise for the achievements of Flavius to the nub.
‘A trap?’
‘Partly,’ Flavius replied. ‘It all depends on what I choose to do.’
‘Am I allowed to suggest that the matter resting with you is a snare?’ Procopius studied the writing before reading it out. ‘After such an achievement, how can I not leave you to make up your own mind as to how to proceed? You are in Carthage, I am not. If you feel that you need to remain there to oversee those edicts I have promulgated then do so. If you think your work complete and it would be best to return, then your well-beloved friend is eager to welcome you home.’
‘If I choose to stay he will think I mean to rebel.’
‘And in order to guard against that his envoys will carry messages to more than yourself.’
‘I can see Theodora’s hand in this. Justinian knows me well enough to demand a straight answer.’
The doubt that such was true travelled across the face of Procopius. ‘You must go home.’
‘God above, do I not long to!’
‘This undermines those who wished to depose you, and anyway, I fear they have waited too long to act. They must see you are on your guard.’
‘Which means we may never know who are the miscreants, which I must say troubles me greatly. What will happen once I am gone?’
‘Put it behind you, for it will not serve to brood on it.’
Preparations were put in hand to travel. A ship had to be equipped with a comfortable place of confinement for Gelimer, another less altered to carry his leading adherents and the remainder of his family. The treasure of the Vandals would travel with Flavius and Antonina and it required a deep-hulled transport to carry it, so great was the weight. There was a small fleet of vessels to accommodate his comitatus for they were his personal troops and went with their general.
A final tour of his units had to be hurriedly arranged so he could say farewell to those who had aided him to conquer, so obviously the news of his impending departure spread through the whole of the North African littoral, and if it stirred some emotion in his pardoned Vandals it was the Moors who saw opportunity, Flavius being sure they were egged on by the Visigoths making mischief. They might fear Hispania as a new objective of Roman reconquest.
It could not be classed as rebellion, the Moors were not under imperial tutelage, but it infuriated Flavius Belisarius for he could do nothing about their invasion of the western border. Stay and fight them and he could be seen as a traitor. He had to leave the need to chastise them in the hands of others and the one he trusted most, Solomon, was given the task and he was also given the bucellarii of Flavius’s personal troops in order to accomplish it, but it was only a loan. As soon as the Moors were subdued they were to be sent back to serve under him, for he had no illusion that he would not be occupied elsewhere and he wanted his best soldiers with him when that came about.
There were, of course, ceremonies; the handing over of command to Valerianus, the regretful farewell to Pharas, which was tearful for both. But the time came to board ship, unmoor and sail out of the harbour, with the man who had conquered thinking, as he looked back at the fortifications of Carthage, if he had that to his credit, there was just as much debit in his personal life.
The route taken home was nearly the same as coming, the first stop being Sicily where they heard of the death of the Goth heir Athalaric, no more than sixteen summers old, his demise reputedly brought on by a bloody flux after an epic drinking bout. That must impact on his mother and her tenuous grip on power but if Flavius was curious as to what such an event would entail, he had his course to resume, once more crossing the Adriatic and hugging the coast of Greece.
The sea did not suit Antonina, who seemed to suffer from sickness on a daily basis and her affliction became so regular that doctors were consulted, only to tell Flavius Belisarius that he was about to become a father; Antonina was pregnant and since she had a child from her previous marriage she must have known what the symptoms portended. Why had she not told him herself?
‘These things are a mystery even to the women who bear the consequences,’ was her answer when he enquired gently as to her seeming ignorance. ‘You can only be certain when you feel the first kick.’
If she claimed ignorance of what constituted a pregnancy that was more than Flavius knew and further probing suggested that the conception may have occurred on the very night he had been told by Procopius of her possible infidelity, which Antonina recalled fondly, but also with a wistful aside that there had been no reoccurrence of the passion he had then shown.
‘Perhaps you require the threat of being killed to rouse you, Flavius.’
‘I live with that, Antonina, every time I go out to fight.’
Even with the torture of uncertainty Flavius had to assume the child was his own and he wavered between joy and, in his darker moments, the contrary thought. But it was impossible not to become solicitous, to seek to ensure that his wife was comfortable, even if he was aware that his secretary saw him as perhaps being taken for a fool.
The first sight of Constantinople was the number of high domes of the many churches that dotted the seven hills of the city, looking vague in the smoke from the many fires that had been lit to ward off what the inhabitants saw as cold, this added to all-year-round fug from cooking charcoal. The wind being in the east there was the smell of the city too, highly unpleasant after time spent at sea, then the crowded approach to the main channel before their vessels peeled off to moor at the pier of the imperial palace.
The court had been forewarned and there was a signal mark of honour in the sheer number of high functionaries lined up to greet the returning hero. Gelimer was on the deck, in chains he had been free of throughout the voyage, this for show, likewise the other Vandal captives. It took longer to berth than was actually required, this to allow the imperial couple to be there on the landing stage — not for them a long wait even for an imperial hero.
The whole quay was lined with Excubitors in their finest regalia and if the trumpets were used to greet the presence of Justinian and Theodora they were blown again when the gangplank was lowered and Flavius Belisarius, his wife on his arm, came on to dry land.
‘Is there a finer sight in all Christendom to compare with you, Flavius?’
‘I can think of many, Highness.’
‘How can you be modest at a time like this, a year away and you return a conqueror?’
Flavius turned and bowed to Theodora, a deep obeisance that disguised his thoughts that this woman might be his enemy.
‘We welcome you,’ was her regal response. ‘And you, Antonina, whom I have much missed.’
His wife being led slightly away to converse with Theodora had Flavius guessing at what they might discuss amid the realisation that from now on he would be in ignorance. There would be no letters to read between two women who could now talk to each other. There was in any case another matter to attend to.