‘How did we come to this?’ he asked, his old voice, rather reedy now, full of sorrow.
‘Because you are an aged dolt,’ Petrus whispered, so low no one could hear him.
‘We shall talk,’ Anastasius continued, ‘and being of goodwill I am sure that what divides us can be bridged.’
He followed that by a clap of his hands, which brought into the chamber servants bearing trays on which there were gifts, objects of gold and silver, cups, chains that had talismans and medals attached, these distributed by the emperor with his own hands to men for whom, judging by their expressions, such wealth was overwhelming.
‘A few small tokens of my esteem and be assured that should we resolve our differences there will be much for you to take back, not least to General Vitalian, who by your presence clearly trusts you to judge if what we conclude meets the needs of those you lead. I ask you to accompany me to a less public place, where we may speak our minds freely and I adjure you to pay no attention to my imperial dignity.’
‘We would never assume to offend that, Highness,’ said Vitalian’s second in command.
‘Then let us proceed to talk, Diomedes, for I sense in you a man who is looking for conciliation.’
Petrus was whispering to himself again, as Anastasius swept out of the audience chamber, trailed by a group of courtiers, which included Pentheus Vicinus. ‘Flatter one, divide from the others, who will seek your favour, you old goat.’
If there was a slur on the imperial character in his musings, there was also a bit of admiration. It had been a fine gesture to get up from his throne and come down to meet Vitalian’s representatives, but where they might have seen humility Petrus saw nothing but condescension.
It was telling no one else departed from an audience chamber now cut off from what was being discussed, a place that became a buzz of useless speculation. Every possible outcome was aired, including the notion that all that waited in private for these men was a bloody execution. This had many an eye searching for the comes excubitorum, who by his absence added fuel to that kind of conjecture.
Justinus had departed but in the other direction, to stand down those troops who had no need to maintain their station in the heat of a day that would, as the sun reached its zenith, turn unbearable, with the caveat to his officers that they must stay fully dressed and be kept standing by in the cool of their barracks, given he had no idea when they would be required to parade again.
‘And change the men in the corridors every double glass. Added to that I want a messenger outside my quarters and one to keep watch on the room in which they are talking. If anyone emerges I need to know, and if the emperor leads it will be everyone back to their stations.’
‘You do not see, Uncle, that is one of the things your officers esteem you for, your attention to the well-being of the guard.’
‘Only one thing, Petrus?’
His nephew smiled, which reminded the older man that when he did so it was not an expression to warm many a heart. With its sideways lift it tended to look like the precursor to something sly or insulting.
‘If I was to tell you all of what they say it would bring you to the blush, given you so hate anything that smacks of flattery.’
‘As long as they do as they are commanded I rest content, I need no more.’
‘I am sure they will obey whatever order you choose to give them, now or …’
That got Petrus a hard look, for it hinted at the future not the present. ‘Perhaps I should gift a few with a good lashing, just so they know I am not easy prey.’
‘I know one or two of your officers who take pleasure in such things and are willing to pay for the service. Give it to them gratis and they will be yours forever.’
‘Has it ever occurred to you to mix with people with a higher set of morals, or indeed any at all?’
‘It has occurred, Uncle, but then I recall how dreary such people are, and so I do not seek their company.’
‘Your mother complains to me often that I do not rein you in.’
‘Do you wish to?’
Justinus smiled. ‘We are all judged in the final accounting by God, Petrus. If you wish to go to perdition in your own way, who am I to prevent you.’
‘For which I thank you: having one father is bad enough, two would be … shall we settle on Hades, where perhaps I will be allowed to atone and then proceed, cleansed, to paradise.’
There was jocularity in that, but Justinus knew that underneath the displayed cynicism his nephew could display the attributes of the deeply religious. Given that sat uncomfortably with the way he lived his life, his uncle could only assume the young man was conflicted, wishing to stay pure but unable to resist temptation. Also Petrus was ambitious, though that too tended to fluctuate between what he saw as his duty set against those moments when the seizing of opportunity became his priority, tempered by the fear of acting in a manner seen as precipitate.
The way he assiduously courted the officers of the excubitor might just be for the purposes of entertainment in what he saw as good company. Yet there was possibly another motive and his normally sanguine uncle sometimes allowed darker thoughts to enter into his thinking, the notion that if there was an altogether deeper purpose, it might not be inimical to his own well-being.
‘So, Petrus, what will Anastasius offer these men?’
‘You think I know, Uncle?’
‘I have often thought you can read the imperial mind.’
‘Difficult,’ Petrus chortled, ‘given the singular lack of comprehensible text.’
‘Let us test your appreciation against what transpires.’
‘Am I being tested?’
‘You may decline to respond if you wish, I have no right to demand anything of you in this regard.’
Justinus, having pricked his vanity, looked down to hide his smile at a set of papers compiled by his nephew that he could not read, covering the move by reaching for his stencil. This was an object made for him by Petrus so that he could sign his written orders. Sometimes as he ran the quill through the stencil he wondered if he should employ another scribe, perhaps even just to tell him that what his nephew had written was what he had dictated, only to dismiss it ? that was a route to not trusting two people, added to which a palace scribe would go gossiping all over the place, which was no way to keep hidden from anyone what he thought.
‘He will seek time, offer them concessions, ply them with gold and try to convince them to persuade Vitalian that there is no longer any purpose in revolt.’
‘Expensive?’
‘Cheap for an old skinflint who has amassed so much gold that the treasury struggles to contain it. He must have ten times what Zeno left him.’
‘Well,’ Justinus replied, ‘let us see if you are right.’
He reached for his galea, polished bronze with patterns of silver and gold, embedded with flashing coloured glass, having become aware of a certain amount of commotion, running footsteps and folk calling out. His supposition that something had happened in the negotiations proved correct when, after a loud knock, one of his officers opened the door.
‘The emperor is preparing to come out, sir.’
‘Alone?’ asked Petrus mischievously of a man he knew well, which got him a grin.
‘No blood, more’s the pity.’
‘The guards,’ Justinus barked.
‘Are all in place in the audience chamber and the corridors.’
‘Make sure the rest are ready to line the avenue.’
‘Sir!’
Petrus had it to the last dot, a fact not known to the likes of Flavius for a whole day. A time in which, having seen their officers return and observed that they came laden with what could only be imperial gifts – they were hidden from sight by sackcloth – they all spent hours wondering what had been agreed, if anything.