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waited in vain. ‘I would not be in any way astonished if Justinian offered the same to any high-ranking Goth nobleman wishing to eschew war in favour of peace.’
    ‘Is Rhegium worth it?’
    ‘It is to me and I am favoured by the fact that Justinian is open to my advice.’
    The question that followed was posed in a near whisper. ‘And you would be willing to advance such a proposal to him?’
    ‘It would not please me, Ebrimuth, even on such a short acquaintance, to see your head stuck on a pike, wherever that might reside.’
    ‘I must consult my closest followers.’
    Flavius was tempted to say that most of them must have come out in that boat with him. The person he needed to talk to was his wife, which induced a sad feeling. He too needed to talk to his wife, but not on a subject even remotely facing this Goth. It was as well Ebrimuth stayed silent and contemplative; if he had not he might have sensed the sudden turmoil such thoughts created in the mind of the man with whom he was negotiating.
    Finally he spoke, standing as he did so. ‘You will have your reply with the dawn, magister .’
    Ebrimuth spun round to reboard his vessel with the same agility as he had shown when coming aboard. The lines were cast off and the single sail raised on the smaller boat as it swung round to head back toRhegium on the wind. Photius was quick to approach his stepfather, to whom he was more loyal than to his transgressive mother. He had heard the last part of the exchange and wanted to know what the outcome would be.
    ‘We must lose men to another garrison, Photius.’
    ‘You are sure he will accept?’
    ‘Of course he will, boy,’ Flavius replied, with a gentle slap on the back. ‘It’s what he came for.’
    ‘Procopius, you knew!’
    The secretary, tall and gangling, just smiled again, which on such an aesthetic countenance smacked of condescension. ‘I was tempted to wager with you, Photius, but taking ripe fruit from a child is too easy.’
    ‘I am not a child!’
    ‘No,’ Flavius said with some force, aiming a sharp glance at a too sarcastic Procopius. ‘You are a man and one I am proud of. Now let us get back to the landing beach and prepare to march north.’
    The sailing master had been awaiting the order and with his rowers back on their oars, no longer in armour but dressed in nothing but loin cloths, he called out the required commands that got his galley moving. Flavius walked to the prow to take advantage of the cooling breeze as well as to think.
    ‘Do you think Justinian will agree?’ Photius asked Procopius.
    ‘I do. The magister would be unlikely to make such an offer unless it had been previously discussed.’ As the youngster nodded, Procopius added in a sour tone, ‘Not that the Emperor is incapable of denying such an arrangement if it suits his purpose on the day.’

C HAPTER T WO
    T here was nothing to trouble the army on the march north, this being a part of the world unused to war. The various towns which Flavius approached, lacking walls and faced with overwhelming force, quickly surrendered. In the present conqueror they found a man who had long ago set his stamp on what his troops were allowed to do in recently taken territory – no despoliation, anything acquired paid for, women treated with respect – and he had been known to hang transgressors in the past if his strictures were ignored.
    His army, and that included his senior commanders, had been subjected to the same speech before they departed Sicily, one he had assailed them with on previous campaigns, a special emphasis being addressed to the newly joined troops under Constantinus. The land they were going to was being brought back to its rightful ownership, that of the true Roman Emperor. The people they would encounter, Goths and their allies apart, were not to be treated as enemies but responsibilities, and just in case anyone harboured doubts, there were sound reasons for kindness.
    Required to move at speed and not