The presence of Antonina meant he saw a lot less of Photius, who could neither stand to be in her company nor command his tongue when they did meet. If he was careful of his stepfather’s sensibilities he knew how to issue barbed comments that would make sense to his mother, if no one else. As for Procopius, their relationship was pure poison and he took care to keep them apart. Only Solomon, of those close to him, was able to behave with indifference to her presence.
The question she had posed and the manner in which she had spoken irritated him; what happened in negotiations with Witigis had nothing to do with Antonina, not that she behaved as if that was the case. He had to assume she was driven by her need to write to Theodora, and in doing so have matters of importance to impart, either with honesty or otherwise, he could never be sure which.
‘Do I not qualify for an answer?’ she demanded when his long silence irritated her.
‘I am not fool enough to actually believe them.’
‘The real question to which I seek an answer, Flavius, is this. Where is this all leading?’
The tone of voice had gone from challenging to silky in a blink, and given she was embroidering that allowed her to look at her work and not hold his eye. She was fishing, of that Flavius had no doubt, seeking to get from him words that would feed the obsessions of her imperial friend, like some indication of personal ambition. He wanted to ask how she could be so treacherous; he could not for the very simple reason Antonina saw where her loyalties lay very differently from those of her husband.
‘First the conquest of the whole of Italy.’
‘First?’
‘Then Hispania and Gaul. That is Justinian’s ambition.’
‘You’re sure it is not more your own?’
‘How many times have you posed such a query, Antonina?’
That made her look up, the air of innocence she sought to adopt insincere. ‘I don’t recall ever having done so.’
‘I think the first time was before we ever landed in North Africa and I can remember several occasions since.’
‘You’re imagining things, Husband, and not for the first time.’
‘It is the imaginings of others that cause the problem.’
The weary response came without any of the emphasis that should have accompanied the words, this as Solomon entered to indicate to Flavius he needed to speak with him, a hand held up to ask him to wait.
‘What others?’ Antonina asked, again all innocence. Did she actually want him to decry Theodora by name just so that she could communicate that to Constantinople?
‘You know as well as I do,’ was what he said, standing and making for the doorway. ‘Better, perhaps.’
‘I have not finished,’ she snapped at his back.
‘Yes you have, Antonina.’
Solomon had retreated to the corridor outside where a quartet of the men on duty were guarding an Isaurian soldier. On seeing the general the fellow knelt in greeting as the commander who had disarmed him, began to explain.
‘This soldier is one of the sentinels on the Tiber walls, General. He has come to tell you of a conspiracy to overcome them.’
A brief exchange established the precise location, the point at which the east walls straddled the river and the builders had relied much more on the river itself to provide protection than high masonry. It soon emerged that this man was one of the contingent that had only recently arrived from the south.
‘The Goths are at the heart of the plot, I take it?’ That got a fearful, nodding acknowledgement, as if the fellow was wondering that he might have been too hasty in coming to Flavius. ‘Solomon, please fetch Procopius. You, stand up and look at me.’
The Isaurian could do the first but not the second. He stood head bowed but silent as they waited for Procopius, who, occupying quarters very close to those of Flavius, soon came hurrying into the corridor.
‘Now speak.’
‘They gave us money-’
‘They?’ Procopius barked, which got him a jaundiced look from his master.
‘To do what?’ Flavius asked in a gentle tone.
‘The nightly ration of wine, drugged, we was to give it to our mates an’ that would allow the Goths to clamber over the walls, them not being as high as elsewhere and our lads slumbering.’
‘Who suggested this to you?’
‘My close comrade roped me in, said we would be in clover if the Goths took the city with just our help. I didn’t want no part of it but I went along so’s I could put a stopper in it.’
Flavius pressed for details and if it did not come out clearly there was no doubting the story. Witigis had not given up on his notion of a coup and the bribing of sentries was a gambit that always had to be guarded against. Leave the walls unprotected for even a short period and the Goths could get enough men into the city to overcome the guards at one of the gates and open it.
Enemy warriors had taken advantage of the truce to spend time close to that part of the walls, ostensibly fishing in the river, which allowed for contact. Over several days natural animosity would give way to indifference and curiosity, then banter and even the odd friendly exchange, given soldiers of any hue were so inclined even if strict instructions were given to avoid it. It was something their officers should have seen and come down upon hard.
‘What rank is this comrade?’
‘Same as me, Your Honour, lowest of the low in the auxilia.’
‘You will identify him?’ A nod as Flavius addressed the guard commander. ‘Take him back to his place of duty and fetch the traitor.’
‘Am I to bring him here?’
‘No, take him to your barracks. I will meet you there.’
Both Flavius and Procopius stood in silence until the Isaurian and his escort had departed, the secretary finally giving an opinion.
‘That fellow is not of the rank for such a plot, and by deduction neither is his comrade.’
Flavius slowly shook his head, but it was more in frustration as he agreed with Procopius. Somewhere in this there would be an officer, but how senior? ‘There’s only one way to find out.’
‘Hot irons?’
‘And more. We must uncover who it is willing to sell us out. A man once bent on betrayal will not stop.’
A night of extreme pain from one Isaurian ranker revealed nothing; the fellow confessed to the plot but named no other, which left Flavius with the only option open to him. The severely damaged traitor was mounted and lashed onto an ass, that led by halter to the main Goth camp. The message was to Witigis, indicating he was in receipt of a gift as useless as his attempts to take Rome.
With matters progressing so well it seemed to Flavius that problems, long lain dormant, had begun to resurface, not least in the behaviour of his reinforcements, men not attuned to the thinking of their general. Several were executed for transgressions against the citizens they were supposed to be in Italy to protect. Flavius hoped the message had got through when misbehaviour of a greater magnitude was brought before him at one of his now regular audiences during which he heard petitions.
‘Where did this take place?’
Flavius asked with a sinking feeling, not relieved when he looked around the chamber and saw how many people were present and listening, including Antonina, who insisted on a raised dais like his own at which to sit at these assemblies, albeit her husband kept it at a discreet distance.
‘Spoletum, Excellency.’
Presidius, the petitioner and a Roman citizen, was taken through his tale three times, once by Flavius, twice more by Procopius, as they sought inconstancies but there were none. Resident in Ravenna and fearing Goth revenge against the citizens of Rome, he had fled on the news of the capture of the city, having buried his coffers in his garden. But he took with him two objects of such value as to maintain him for as long as necessary, namely a pair of jewel-encrusted daggers with solid gold hilts.