‘Then a blessing upon you, young sir, and a tribute to your years.’
For a moment Flavius thought he had been recognised and he tugged at his cowl to make sure his face was partially hidden.
‘By your throat I know you are not yet a man but there’s not a right-thinking soul in Moesia of any age and who can fight that does not rally to the general’s banner. By the time all are assembled we will be a mighty host. It is time that old fart and skinflint Anastasius was kicked out of his palace and sent to live in Egypt amidst those heretics he is so keen on siding with.’
‘Time to decide,’ Dardanies spat.
There was even less time to explain now than hitherto, added to which he had no idea if Dardanies would even understand; how could a pagan comprehend those who advanced the Chalcedonian dogma and were prepared to rebel against a Monophysite emperor to kill off the rival creed they saw as heresy?
Did he even know that Monophysitism existed? Was he aware that this had been brewing for decades and had been a bone to be gnawed at in the Belisarius house? If there was to be an uprising in a cause in which his father believed, should he leave his post to join it? If he had never served under Vitalian he held him to be both honest and upright in his faith.
‘Just do as I say,’ Flavius insisted.
‘You’re giving orders?’ Dardanies demanded.
‘You got the right of it, Master Flavius?’
‘Yes.’
‘Certain, are you?’
‘Keep your spear down and for the love of the Lord smile.’
Ohannes hissed at Dardanies. ‘Best do as he says.’
‘You might, I won’t.’
‘Six against one, I think you may well just.’
They were within easy throwing distance now, so close they could barely miss. Yet there was still no hint of a threat from those standing before them and they were grinning. Maybe it was those looks that persuaded Dardanies, Flavius never knew. He just had a certainty that the way to get clear of any threat from Senuthius was in the company of men going south to fight for General Vitalian. That way they could, instead of skulking from hedgerow to hedgerow, walk the open road without fear.
There was only one question remaining and that would make all the difference, one that made him take a tight grip on that spear shaft again. With his other hand and holding his breath Flavius threw back the cowl to fully reveal his face. With six pairs of eyes upon it, and the same number of faces to examine, there was a gap of several seconds before he could exhale with relief; there was no exclamation, no flash of recognition in those faces. He was to them a stranger.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The exchange of names that followed was the usual blur of words and greetings, carried out when they were moving again, meaning not many would be immediately recollected, though when Flavius gave his given name – he did not add the non-peasant Belisarius – that raised an eyebrow, such a clearly Roman tag for someone who appeared to be a rusticus being unusual in these parts, this quickly covered by the excuse, albeit a true one, that his father had been a soldier.
The name Dardanies was accepted, given many a barbarian crossed into Roman territory to live and work, while Ohannes being Greek raised not an eyebrow, though it occurred to Flavius, and it should have done previously, that the old soldier must have adopted it at some time, which led him to wonder what he had been called at birth.
The spokesman of the group was the one with the padded jerkin, the imposing belly, the loud voice and the long pollarding saw. Called Bassus he was very much the leader, either by sheer force of his personality or some position he held yet to be established. As they walked and conversed it was necessary to be very vague about from where they had come, as well as many other matters that would naturally occur in conversation.
‘How did you come to be fully armed?’ had been one of the first and most awkward enquiries, though men who had only farming implements posed it in envy not suspicion.
Flavius responded quickly, conjuring up a handy lie, aware that the others were struggling to think of an answer; they were, after all, masquerading as peasants.
‘I am the son of a soldier and he was able to equip us all.’
‘He must be a man of means, then?’ Bassus boomed.
‘He is a man who hoards weapons, friend, for he has long been eager to be on the enterprise in which we are engaged.’ The question that hung in the air was quickly dealt with by another hurried bit of invention. ‘He is too old, himself, though he will scarce admit it.’
‘Ten years on me,’ Ohannes added, picking up on the falsehood and proving yet again he was no fool, ‘but still with fire for the love of God in his belly.’
‘Praise be to that,’ Bassus responded.
His look of satisfaction communicated itself to the others, the subsequent talk they exchanged amongst themselves establishing the names in the mind of Flavius and he assumed the others. There was a Firmius, confusingly two men called Gregoras, a Phocas and the youngest, not much above the age of Flavius, called Rogas. They came across as simple and easy-going folk as were others they encountered, like the inhabitants of a clutch of dwellings that lay close to the track, who rushed out with fruit and bread with which to feed them and praise their purpose.
The glue of the cohesion of all was religion, which required to be explained to a sceptical Dardanies, something carried out away from the rest of the group – who, finding themselves amongst like souls, country people who shared their concerns about crops, weather and the price of the harvest, were engaged in comforting conversation, consuming the gifts they had been given while batting away the questions of eager and numerous children who darted around them demanding attention.
Ohannes seemed the most indulgent of the brats, allowing them to play with his weapons and pretending to terror when they threatened him, the babble of these excited urchins allowing Flavius to give an outline of the dispute between emperor and citizens without any risk of being overheard, not that he received the impression his explanation made, to his listener, any sense. On examination, did it really do so for him? In seeking to clarify the point of disagreement he had been obliged to examine his own words as he delivered them, which raised in his mind a lack of his previous certainty as to the rightness of the cause.
While he held that the Chalcedonian dogma was the correct reading of scripture, that Jesus could be both human and divine and be born of a woman, he did wonder if it was a belief that justified conflict that might lead to bloodshed. Not that he was prepared to allow the Monophysite position dominance, but he did wonder why the two could not coexist, in mutual tolerance if not harmony.
‘If you had many gods, as we do, every man could worship those that mean most to him,’ Dardanies responded, ‘and leave others to find their own way to consolation.’
‘To think so is to condemn your soul to perdition.’
‘You believe in what you call hell?’
‘I do, but you may call it Hades if you wish.’
‘One day we might meet in the afterlife and carry on the argument.’
‘Make it too loudly in this type of company and we will be there soon.’
‘You are good at telling lies, Flavius Belisarius, is that a Christian virtue?’
Sensing the mockery, the youngster was close to an angry reply, but he bit back on it. ‘It is storytelling and necessary and it would do you well to take more part, as Ohannes does, for your silence and distance might make them suspect you.’
‘The first one to do so will die, so be on your guard for I will need you to aid me with the remainder.’
If Dardanies was smiling he was not joking and that was a worrying thought, which produced a possible solution. ‘With these fellows to accompany us we have no more need of your protection.’