Flame of the West Read Online Free PDF Page B

ocean. Amusing nonsense, but I am interested in the truth behind it all. He was a great captain of horse, is that not so?”
       I nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, sir. His Legion were the greatest horse-soldiers who ever lived. They smashed Britain’s enemies in twelve great battles, and held the land safe, without Rome’s aid, for over twenty years.”
       “But Arthur was betrayed and killed in the end, yes? Leaving Britain without a protector.”
       “That is correct, sir,” I replied sadly, “my mother and I fled the country in the aftermath of Camlann, where Arthur’s Legion was destroyed. I know nothing of the current state of Britain, whether it has been conquered by barbarian tribes, or split into dozens of warring kingdoms.” 
       Belisarius looked at me for a long moment. He was an expert at concealing his thoughts, and I could only wonder what he had in store for me. With the fate of Italy rested on his creaking shoulders, he must have had good reason to prolong an interview with a nobody like myself.
       “ Britain has stood alone for too long,” he said at last, “it is time all the lost satellites of Rome were brought back into her orbit. We have taken back North Africa, and shall keep Italy, no matter what the Goths throw at us. If we can reconquer Italy, then why not Gaul, or even Britain?”
       I stared at him, striving to read his expression. Was he serious? It was impossible. Belisarius had achieved extraordinary things, but to take back the whole of the Western Empire was a dream even Constantine the Great had not entertained. The Empire barely had enough soldiers to defend its own shrunken borders, and the expeditions to North Africa and Italy had been an astonishing gamble. Thanks to good fortune and the skill of Belisarius, the dice had landed in our favour.
       And yet…we had watered the soil of Italy with the blood of thousands of Goths, and our own losses were trifling. If all the barbarian nations of the West came against Belisarius, united in arms, I would have given him an even chance of victory.
       “Trust in me, Coel,” he said with an encouraging smile, “there is no limit to what can be achieved. God has granted us one vict ory after another. Your homeland may yet be saved.”
       He said no more, and I left his presence in a daze, striving to make sense of this unexpected glimpse into the general’s secret character.
       I had never credited him with any ambition beyond carrying out the orders of his master in Constantinople. He might have made himself King of Africa after defeating the Vandals, but declined the opportunity and hurried home to assure Justinian of his loyalty.
       Your homeland may yet be saved. These words replayed, over and over again, in my mind that night. I could not sleep, and in the small hours of the morning cursed Belisarius for his vagaries. What had he meant? He was not a man to waste words, or honey them with lies.
       Or so I thought.
     
    5 .
     
    Belisarius was soon active again. He sent John the Sanguinary away from Rome, despatching him north-east with two thousand cavalry to the town of Alba Fucens, beside the shores of the Fucine Lake.
       John was instructed to observe the truce and refrain from the slightest act of aggression. If the Goths broke the treaty, he was to ride out without delay and overrun the province of Picenum, a region of Italy between the Appenines and the Adriatic Sea. In this way Belisarius anticipated the renewal of war, and planned in advance while continuing to negotiate with the Goths.
       I was happy to see John go, and to enjoy an interval of peace in Rome. The city was still surrounded by a vast horde of Goths, but the morale of our garrison was high, and even the citizens – usually a miserable, cowardly, treacherous set - were buoyed by the recent influx of supplies.
       “Give a man enough bread and wine,” Procopius remarked, “a woman in his bed, and a chance to score off