The last command Valentinus could issue, once he and his personal bodyguards had forced their way through the rabble, was to get that gate shut and let everyone still outside it pay for their greed. That was where Photius found him, tears streaming down his cheeks.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Morale naturally plummeted following such a reverse and the only method by which Flavius could counter that was by a return to his previous stratagem, that of a controlled sortie and then retire. This enjoyed only limited success, due to the higher spirits of the Goths and the way they had learnt to counter his tactics. The fact that preyed on his mind was not the nature of his own failure – in war such things had to be accepted – but the way it had nearly turned into disaster.
If the Goths had put in a final charge it was possible, with the gates of the city shut against him, he would have lost his entire army and the image of those Roman citizens lining the walls in silent contemplation of such an outcome caused a near apoplexy, just as much as the indiscipline of their levies on the Plains of Nero had multiplied his own difficulties on the east bank of the Tiber.
The need to know how such a set of circumstances had come about was a task for Procopius. He agreed with his master that the Roman mob were not capable of such behaviour on some collective natural instinct. Yes, the common people could riot as could any mass of citizens; Flavius had seen that very thing in Constantinople in the so-called Nika riots against Justinian and Theodora, an uprising that had ended in the massacre of thirty thousand citizens in the Hippodrome.
There had been furtive leadership then seeking power for themselves and many had paid the price for mere suspicion of involvement; something of the same must exist in Rome and future security demanded that whoever was responsible be unmasked, a demand easier made than satisfied, as Procopius sadly reported. He lacked the sources among the Romans that he enjoyed within the army.
‘It’s like walking the sewers, leaving me wading in filth but with no clarity. Hint to one senator that there has been treachery is to invite him to name with certainty his chief rivals and they are just as keen to condemn the source.’
‘So it could be any of them?’ Flavius asked.
‘Or all!’ Procopius snapped, before modifying that. ‘Not all, but who the culprit might be, I am at a loss to say.’
‘Silverius?’ Flavius asked. ‘He was quick to betray Witigis, perhaps he will be just as swift to do the same to us. I daresay he hoped that with us in possession the Goths would leave Rome be.’
That received a jaundiced look, which obviated the need for Procopius to state the obvious: when it came to wading through ordure the denizens of the Church were worse by a wide margin than their lay brethren. They lied with a facility that flew in the face of their stated occupational godliness. Having seen that look Flavius went to his desk and fetched a scroll, which he handed to his secretary.
‘Read this.’ His secretary complied, not once, but judging by the cant of his head, twice and both times so slowly as to make his employer impatient. ‘Well?’
‘It is damning enough, Magister, but is it true?’
‘You have reason to doubt it?’
‘There’s a certain crudity to the accusation, it seems too explicit, too lacking in uncertainty. Silverius could very well be engaged in treachery but he would not be such a fool as to leave himself so open to discovery, and I cannot be certain, but I would say this draft of a letter is not in his hand.’
‘He will not write his own words any more than I do.’
‘No man in his right mind would dictate a missive in which he openly alludes to secret dealings with Witigis. At the very least he would employ a simple code. Added to that, whoever brought you this claims to have read the final missive. Can that too be accurate?’
‘You know Theodora has demanded I remove him?’
That gave them both pause; one of the matters that had plagued the empire over several decades had been a dispute on dogma between those who adhered to the creed of Monophysitism. This went against the agreed decision reached by the Synod of Bishops at Chalcedon, all based on an interpretation of scripture. Could Jesus be both man and God? Was there a Holy Trinity of equals? Chalcedon decided yes but many refused to accept the agreed conclusion.
Theodora was strong for the Monophysites while Silverius, who occupied the senior office in their shared religion, was openly opposed to that position. She wanted him removed and replaced with a deacon called Vigilius, who was clearly her creature. So far Flavius had not acted upon the demand, his excuse for delay being that his orders came from the Emperor not his consort, however powerful she thought herself to be.
It was a dangerous game and had his wife been present in Rome it would have been doubly so, for she would have acted not only as an advocate for Theodora but as her partisan, even if he fundamentally disagreed, a fact which was wounding in the extreme. Yet even without her presence, prevarication could only last so long; here was an excuse to act that met with his needs as well as those of Theodora.
‘Silverius could be our perpetrator, could he not? Someone – perhaps more than one – gave orders that those gates be kept closed against us and was prepared to see us destroyed. Only Witigis did not finish us off and I still have no idea why, excepting divine intercession.’
‘But you must guard against a repeat for we may not be so lucky in future?’
‘To the point, Procopius, as always. Send a party of my bodyguards to arrest Silverius-’
‘To do with him what?’
‘We’ll send him to Constantinople. Let the man who rules, not I, decide to please or displease his wife.’
‘And Vigilius?’
‘He is here in the city, is he not?’ Procopius nodded. ‘Then he shall become the Bishop of Rome until Justinian says otherwise.’
‘Which leaves the senators, Magister, and Silverius might be innocent.’
‘I doubt he is wholly that, none of them are.’ Flavius paused for some time, to think. ‘The senators are to be expelled from the city. Let them reside in the country where they can plot to their heart’s content, but uselessly.’
At the next meeting of the military council, if that action met with universal approval it was clear that the reputation of the man in command had taken a dent. It was an undercurrent rather than manifest, a feeling not a fact that Flavius’s generals had lost a degree of belief in him, the most obvious evidence being in the more forthright way that his second in command felt he had the right to hold forth and act as if he was equal. Not that he proposed any other course than his superior had intended to put forward himself.
Much as Flavius wanted to check his presumption he let Constantinus have his moment; the last thing needed was an open dispute between the two senior commanders, and if disagreements were allowed to break out into the open between the top men, it would lead to the taking of sides, which would be fatal to the enterprise: a divided army could only hope for complete defeat. So it was with a high degree of diplomacy and a frustrating touch of humility that Flavius gave him full agreement.
‘We cannot sit idle, so we must do as Constantinus suggests and keep up our raiding. To his claim to take the command of such operations I can only say I fully support it and thank him.’
As ever, when the conference broke up Flavius was left with his secretary, who had on his long, thin face one of those enigmatic smiles that left anyone observing it to wonder if they were caused by amusement or mental superiority.
‘Constantinus suggests?’
‘He wants to take responsibility for the tactics we have no choice but to employ.’
‘And if they begin to work, he can claim the credit-’
‘Which,’ Flavius interrupted, ‘he will further use to undermine my authority.’