Flame of the West Read Online Free PDF

spot us,” I muttered. Our vessels were lit by lanterns hanging from the mast-heads, to guard against losing their way in the dark.
       The object was not stealth, for there was no way of hiding our progress from the Goths, but speed. Rome had been starving when I left, the citizens forced to eat grass (and each other, if the rumours of what went on in the poorest districts were to be believed) and it was vital our supplies got through without delay.
       Occasionally I glimpsed a light on the northern bank, and the dim shapes of horsemen. The Goths were tracking us, but no arrows came flying over the water. The truce was holding.
       I learn ed later how desperate King Vitiges was for a peaceful settlement. Despite being vastly outnumbered, Belisarius had re-conquered much of Italy and defeated all efforts to prise him out of Rome. The Goths were also suffering from famine, for Belisarius sent out frequent raiding parties to disrupt their supply convoys.
       With an artfulness that surprised me, he also spread false rumours of the size of the Roman reinforcements about to land in Italy. Had Vitiges known how pitifully few and overstretched the empire’s resources were, he might not have been so eager to come to terms.
       Even while our boats were rowing up the Tiber, the Gothic ambassadors were striving to persuade Belisarius to abandon the struggle for Italy and accept a compromise. Procopius was present at the negotiations, and told me what passed between the Gothic spokesman and Belisarius.
       “My sovereign,” said the former, “is guided by the virtues of moderation and forbearance, and sincerely wishes to bring an end to the mutual miseries of this war.”
   He went on to describe the justice of the Gothic cause, and their legal right to possess the kingdom of Italy, citing dubious precedents from history. Belisarius scornfully denied them all, and then the Goth made this startling offer:
   “Though convinced that even our enemies must inwardly feel the truth of the arguments we have urged, yet we are willing to prove our peaceful intentions, by granting you Sicily, that fertile and extensive island, so convenient, by its position, for the maintenance of Africa.”
       Belisarius laughed at this – he rarely had cause to laugh – and I like to think he had me in mind when he made his reply.
       “ Your generosity in yielding a province which you have already lost requires an adequate response. I will resign to the Goths the island of Britain, an island much larger than Sicily, and once part of the Empire. May you profit from her!”
       The spokesman retreated, red-faced, to hammer out a new set of proposals with his colleagues. Back and forth the negotiations went, and they were still arguing when our fleet arrived safely in Rome.
       Our progress down the Tiber had been swift and sure, and entirely without incident. Belisarius was overjoyed at the arrival of fresh supplies of corn and wine, and ordered the dormant mills and bake-houses to set to work again. He was careful to ensure there was enough bread for all, and sent soldiers into the streets to dole out rations to the starving populace.
       He summoned me into his presence, at his house near the Pincian Gate, and confirmed my appointment as centenar.
       “You have distinguished yourself,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder, “as I trusted you would. Coel the Briton, one-time champion of the racetrack, who fought loyally for the Empire and brought the supplies safely into Rome. Soon your fame will eclipse that of your grandfather.”
       I was surprised he remembered Arthur, whose name was but a faint echo in this part of the world.
       “Some of our mercenaries from Germania tell tales of him,” he explained, “though they seem to have got him confused with their own heroes. They recite sorts of tales of Arthur hunting a gigantic boar, fighting giants and riding monstrous fish to explore the depths of the