There were imperial troops on the frontier but not enough; allies would be needed and part of the task of the magister per Orientem was to first engage them and then properly employ their levies. Justinian too had a responsibility, and that was to provide prompt and regular pay for those in his service, not always forthcoming at the times in which it should and that, gently alluded to, pointed up one of the limits of imperial power.
The Emperor could propose but it was up to the bureaucracy to dispose and gold meant to pay soldiers had a way of being delayed in its true purpose so that such men, by lending it out at interest, could enrich themselves with no thought to the ultimate consequence of their peculation.
‘Do not fail, Flavius,’ Justinian said in conclusion, the grave look on his face somewhat manufactured. ‘There are too many here in the palace who would take pleasure from such an outcome.’
‘I will do what is required of me, Excellency.’
The tone of that, Flavius deliberately employed; it was not rousing words of assurance, it was a warning that his emperor also must do as was required. If there were pinches in the distribution of supplies, he must either root them out or find a way to bypass them.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
There was no way to avoid the Empress Theodora even in such a sprawling palace. Given the way she fawned over Antonina and made a point of visiting their shared apartments on a daily basis made it doubly impossible. Seeing them together it was hard to know who was the ruler and who the subject, so close were they in their thinking and interactions.
Instead of behaving like grown women they acted like a pair of prepubescent girls and their jokes at his expense, usually built around the notion that it took more than good intentions to make a good ruler, became repetitively wearing and many times he had to bite his tongue to avoid blurting out that Antonina would have made an atrocious queen.
In one sense life had become less complicated. Theodosius had seemingly decided that Antonina’s behaviour, never even remotely discreet, was too life-threatening and had departed for Ephesus, the story being that he was intent on becoming a monk, which got from Photius the response that pigs might fly.
Originally cast down by what she called the loss of her dearest (and platonic) companion, Antonina was always able revive her spirits in the company of the Empress and did so. Their shared history gave them much to talk and laugh about and the only relief for Flavius, not eager to hear even a hint of their previous adventures in their long past places of employment, or to being told how lucky he was to have such a wonderful wife, was to make his excuses and leave and get on with the business of preparing for the forthcoming campaign.
In this he had engaged his stepson, now mature and responsible, as a replacement for Procopius and if Photius lacked that functionary’s natural skill he made up for it in his enthusiasm and sheer application, not that the task of supply was ever straightforward. Too many people had a lock on such things as weapons and armour from the imperial manufactories, and if they demanded a bribe to provide the equipment needed – Flavius Belisarius could appeal directly to Justinian – they would not let anything pass out of their possession without it being plain how much they were being put out by such demands.
When it came to forward supplies of food and feed for the thousands of horses required to successfully campaign, indeed for the mounts themselves, that fell within the remit of John the Cappadocian. There Flavius found a level of avarice that provided an almost insurmountable bar to his needs in both the quantity and quality of that which was required. The threat of imperial intervention he casually dismissed and it was odd that the person most incensed by his inaction was the Empress.
‘Ask Antonina,’ was her response when he queried why she was so openly furious at John’s behaviour. There was also the question of how she knew of his intransigence: Flavius had never complained to her, she being the last person he felt he could look to for aid.
‘Theodora hates him,’ was his wife’s answer as they dined together. The temptation to respond that John was in abundant company had to be bitten back. ‘And he and I could well cross swords if he continues to behave as he does.’
‘Not literally, I hope. He might have the girth of a pregnant sow but I doubt you would best him.’
The smirk that accompanied the joke made Antonina angry and she spat back at him over the table on which they were dining. ‘He diminishes you at every opportunity. Would you have me listen to him insult you and let it pass?’
‘Me?’
‘Don’t sound surprised, Husband. You know he hates you.’
‘I know he resents my success. I would be indifferent to that if he did not control the supply of what my army requires.’
‘You should not be,’ Antonina replied in that exasperated tone often adopted by wives who despair of their husband’s apparent passivity. ‘The way you let people talk of you sometimes-’
‘I have two choices, Antonina, which is either to ignore it or take a weapon to the miscreant. Given I suspect John is not alone in his envy, that might result in the palace corridors running with blood.’
‘It may come to that if the Cappadocian’s ambitions are not checked.’
‘What ambitions?’
‘So you are blind as well as a fool.’
That was too close to the bone for Flavius; even if she was referring to another matter entirely, the spectre of Theodosius had been raised. Right now that particular grit in the oyster of his marriage had absented himself, Flavius thought because Photius was present.
‘I am neither, which you well know.’
Antonina entirely missed the allusion, locked up as she was in her thoughts on the Cappadocian. Not wishing to dip his toe in that particular septic well, Flavius avoided a direct reference to her possible infidelities and returned to generalities.
‘It surprises me that you care so much.’
‘Why should that be?’
Antonina was good at showing offence, just as in many times past she had shown a real facility for affection. Her whole body now seemed to react as if there was some inner spring animating her anger, and as she responded her tone of voice went through at least three different, all equally dramatic, phases: fury, bellicosity, then an icy form of triumph.
‘You think I would let that fat slug insult the man to whom I am married and just let it pass? I will give him a piece of my mind. He’ll slink away when I am finished with him, I can tell you.’ She fixed him with a glare. ‘But, of course, you don’t care, do you?’
‘Is there a particular reason why Theodora so hates him?’
The slow shake of his wife’s head, allied to the look of despairing wonder, spoke volumes. ‘Do you not see him for what he is?’
‘Fat, wealthy, full of conceit and, as I have found, impervious to censure. Justinian will not listen when I complain of him.’
‘Which makes Theodora despair, for he is as blind as you seem to be.’ Her eating knife was waving now and she was addressing him as if he was indeed short on brains. ‘The Cappadocian has spent the last ten years filling offices with men that owe everything to him. Why would he do that?’
‘He’s doing it on behalf of Justinian, who put him in place to change the nature of the bureaucracy and break the power of the patricians.’
‘Good for him, then, that in the process he has amassed a cohort of men who will support him.’
‘In what?’
The eyes went to the roof above her head in exasperation. ‘He wants the throne for himself, and the man sat on it is too blind to see. Thank God he has a wife with a sharper eye.’
‘John for emperor,’ Flavius chuckled. ‘The notion is absurd.’