He was still comatose when the news came of the Hun withdrawal. Zabergan had suffered just enough to make him worry about progressing further, so he offered to sell his thousands of Thracian captives to Justinian, which was readily accepted, at which point he headed north, back to the Danube and home.
Flavius required a litter with which to re-enter the capital but the cheering was just as vociferous as it had been when, on his return from North Africa, he rode along the Triumphal Way on horseback. It pleased him that those Vandals in his service, and the Goths too, were hailed with equal passion.
Justinian provided the best physicians but it was weeks stretching into months before Flavius was fully ambulant, albeit with a pronounced limp, while the black bruise on his chest seemed permanent, which had the people attending him shaking their heads. His popularity soared as that of Justinian fell; the Emperor castigated for buying Zabergan off instead of pursuing him and destroying his army, this by a citizenry that had no idea such a thing was impossible.
Being a rod for discontent had an effect on their relationship; Justinian hated to be booed in the Hippodrome when Flavius Belisarius, limping and clearly in pain, was loudly cheered.
The day three months later when the Excubitors came to arrest Flavius was one of brilliant sunshine and he was in a good mood, overseeing a better laying out of his garden, this while Antonina entertained a whole host of neighbours only too willing to listen to her boasting – she had a hand in winning all of her husband’s battles of course – for the chance of proximity to the wife of such a hero; they scattered quick enough when the fact of his arrest became known.
‘The charge is that you have engaged in conspiracy to displace the Emperor.’
‘Again?’ Flavius sighed.
By the time he reached the palace dungeons, he had once more been stripped of offices and wealth. The source of the charge was none other than Ancinius Probus Vicinus and it was relayed to him that proof existed of the crime. Two of his comitatus had been arraigned for plotting the downfall of Justinian and under torture had implicated their general, which obliged him once more to face the senate and interrogation by a man he knew wanted him disgraced.
‘You deny the charge?’ Vicinus crowed.
‘Of course.’
‘The senate has evidence.’
‘Obtained under torture,’ Flavius replied, his hand on a chest that now contained a permanent pain.
‘Which is valid. Hot irons will produce a truth that would otherwise be concealed.’
‘My fellow senators,’ Flavius cried, wincing as he did so.
‘You are not at liberty to address the house.’
‘I am and I defy anyone to prevent me. Step forward, Vicinus, if you wish and you will experience the difference between serving the empire and serving your malice.’
Looking past his prosecutor Flavius raised his voice, ignoring the stabbing it produced. ‘I have served the empire and its emperors for near fifty years and been faithful all that time. You know the offers made to me and declined, and I suspect you are also aware that none of you may walk the streets of the city as freely as I do.’
That set up a low hum. ‘Could I depose my emperor? Maybe, but it requires me to break a vow to a man I hold in higher esteem even than the Autokrator. That is my father, Decimus Belisarius who, along with my three elder brothers, was murdered by the father of the man now accusing me of seeking the diadem.’
‘A lie!’ Vicinus yelled.
‘You are so steeped in treachery, it is so in your blood, Vicinus, that you cannot even conceive of honesty. Who overheard my men talking of revolt?’ Pain notwithstanding he pointed at a number of senators to be favoured with shaking heads. ‘You? You? On whose orders were they tortured until they confessed?’
‘Know this,’ he cried, a digit now aimed straight at Vicinus. ‘I destroyed this man’s father and impoverished his heirs. I did so with the secret assistance of our Emperor Justinian when he was no more than secretary to his uncle.’
That set up a whole raft of whispers as heads came together to cogitate on what they were being told. ‘If you do not believe me, I demand you call Justinian before this house and question him on the truth of what I have said.’
It would have been amusing if it had not been so serious. No senate would dare call an emperor to face them; it was a good way to see the inside of the dungeons.
‘I am sick of this kind of accusation levelled at me more than once. I, as one of your equals and an ex-consul, demand that you vote now on whether this charge is valid or part of a conspiracy that may well be aimed at disguising the ambition of others. You have nothing but torture evidence. Torture me if you must but it will be to no avail. And then I invite you to face the citizens of Constantinople and convince them of my guilt.’
The slow handclap from the balcony took every eye in that direction. It had to be Justinian and he was telling the house which way to vote.
‘Why did you not intervene earlier? You must have known it was nonsense.’
‘Do I know that,’ Justinian said, canting his head and pulling at his few remaining strands of grey hair, ‘when nearly every voice I hear tells me you are conspiring against me?’
‘I see I am a victim of my own absence from your council, which has allowed others to work on wits surely becoming addled.’
‘You dare not address me so.’
‘I do and I will.’ Flavius responded, stopping a hand that was halfway to the pain in his chest. ‘Those who spoke of this, hate my success. They wish to see me a beggar.’
‘All your offices and your monies have been restored.’
‘What was it, jealousy?’ Justinian actually went white but Flavius would not let him speak. ‘Do you so hate the cheers that greet me in the Hippodrome that you seek ways to clip my pride?’
‘Don’t deny you are proud, Flavius.’
‘I am proud of the service I have given you and your uncle. I am proud that when the time comes to meet my Maker I will have nothing of which I am ashamed.’
‘Are you so free from sin?’
‘No man is and no ruler either. I hope that God and the saints are so impressed with the Church of St Sophia that they will forgive you, for you are but a man.’
Flavius hit a nerve then and it was deliberate; others might seek to imply that his imperial estate was semi-divine, but neither man believed it to be true. If Justinian feared anything it was the prospect of answering for the way he had lived his life and the manifest sins therein, hence his devotion to prayer.
‘Know that I wish you no ill,’ Flavius added, ‘but I must tell you that I will provide you with no more of my service.’
‘You will do as I command.’
‘What, and me to appeal to the mob you so fear?’
Flavius turned then, and despite being angrily called back, limped out of the imperial presence. It was only out of sight that he found the need to lean against a pillar and allow the marble to cool a heated brow. He felt his time was coming: the latest wounds had tapped his resolve and left him feeling weak. He was no longer fit to do battle and had no desire to still advise. That Antonina was furious he took as inevitable but he lacked the strength to argue with her.
Less than a year after his success against the Huns the moment came when the effect of that chest wound could no longer be held at bay and Count Flavius Belisarius went to meet his maker. The last image in his mind as he slipped out of life was of himself crossing a field next to the River Danube inhabiting a body sixteen once more rather than sixty. Standing waiting to greet him and smiling were his father and three elder brothers eager to tell him that he had nothing to fear.